


No-Win Scenario

by CateAdams



Series: The Ren shat'var Trilogy [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, First Time, M/M, Soul Bond, T'hy'la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CateAdams/pseuds/CateAdams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A split-second decision changes Jim’s life forever, as a desperate bid for survival results in a bond with Spock. As Jim tries to understand their new connection, he must contend with his own inner struggles. Surprising new enemies are revealed and unexpected threats emerge, and Jim must come to terms with the true significance of their bond before it is too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Choices

(posted on ksarchive.com beginning on 2 February 2014)

 

Chapter One: Choices

 

     He lay on the hard deck of the shuttlecraft, the air around him cold and growing colder. His breaths came in gasps, now, as the oxygen slowly diminished. Darkness appeared to surround him, but he managed to keep his vision fixed on the steady gaze of warm, brown eyes. His head ached, not only from the effects of slow asphyxiation, but also from the recent hasty and intense joining with another’s mind. He inhaled raggedly, his voice barely a whisper. “ _Kobayashi Maru_ , Spock....pretty sure...what you did is...cheating... never...let you...live it down...”. The blackness expanded, and his body grew limp, his lips still curled in a final, defiant grin.

_Fourteen hours earlier..._

 

 

     The _Enterprise_ appeared to soar away into the star-lit black as the shuttle _Copernicus_ angled sharply away and down along its departure vector. Captain James Kirk smiled, admiring his beautiful lady with as much excitement and awe as he had the very first time he had seen her fly.

     “Shuttle _Copernicus_ to _Enterprise_ , we are clear, turning now to thirty-two mark zero-eight, engaging impulse drive.” Spock’s crisp monotone from the co-pilot’s chair brought Jim’s attention back to the board in front of him.

     “ _Enterprise_ acknowledges,” Uhura replied over the comm channel, her voice considerably more animated. “Confirming emergency channel code alpha-charlie-ten and rendezvous at Delta Ceti III in six days.”

     Jim toggled his own control. “Confirmed, Lieutenant. Tell Sulu to keep her in one piece for me.”

     “Affirmative, Captain. He says he’ll do his best. Pleasant trip, gentlemen.”

     “Roger, _Enterprise_ , _Copernicus_ out.” Jim flipped a switch and the comm light blinked out. He watched his lady grow smaller and smaller still, the upswept nacelles gleaming impossibly bright with reflected starlight. Reluctantly, he punched up the tactical and navigation overlay on the screen and shared a glance with his first officer. “Ready to go?”

     “Affirmative, Captain, all indicators green, heading laid in; warp speed on your command.”

     “Punch it.” Jim smiled to himself as Spock hesitated just slightly before initiating the command. It wasn’t that long ago that the half-Vulcan would have, at the least, pretended not to understand Terran slang, or would even have taken Jim’s wording as an invitation to lecture him on proper protocol. Their friendship, which had previously been guarded, at least on Spock’s side, and fraught with miscommunication, was newly forged in the harsh crucible of Jim’s death and Spock’s resultant emotional maelstrom. A miracle-and-a-half later, Jim had been resurrected, and Spock had been, well, different.

     Jim knew that still waters ran deep. In the two weeks Jim had been in a coma, Spock and Uhura had apparently broken off their relationship and Spock had spent practically all hours at his bedside. Not that Spock had mentioned it himself, of course. Bones had brought it up almost accusingly later on. But, by that time, Spock was back to being his usual calm, logical, slightly aloof self, albeit with slightly more warmth where Jim was concerned. Jim chalked up Spock’s response to the effect of emotional shock on a Vulcan who had literally lost his whole world already.

     Vulcans, as a rule, barely acknowledge emotionally strenuous topics, much less introduce them. And Jim, who had been through the hell of Tarsus IV, had no desire to force a difficult conversation, especially when he found he was appreciating his friend’s newfound openness. Therefore, neither of them had endeavored to bring up what happened in the warp core during the year of refit time on Earth or even during the subsequent thirteen months of their deep-space assignment. Despite that, however, they seemed well on their way to the “defining friendship” that had been promised. They talked, they played chess, they worked out together. Jim, who had always shied away from significant relationships of any kind, with the notable exception of his friendship with Bones, was finding surprising contentment in the loyalty, acceptance and respect of his half-Vulcan first officer. And despite Bones’ frequent mutterings about Jim’s secret crush, the captain kept his strong attraction to the Vulcan strictly under wraps. Unrequited lust was one thing, but unrequited love was something Jim was resolved to avoid.

     Indeed, the first year-and-change of their groundbreaking five-year mission had been a complete success for the young command team. Their rare rapport proved invaluable under frequently encountered dangerous and unpredictable circumstances. At times, Jim almost felt as though he could read Spock’s mind, and vice versa, despite the Vulcan’s insistence that that would be quite impossible. And the captain genuinely enjoyed the time they spent together. So now, the looming prospect of a day’s travel to a classified command-level summit in a shuttle didn’t appear to be as mind-numbing as it might have been.

     As the stars streaked past the forward viewscreen in all the brilliant colors of warpspace, Jim sat back in his chair, ran a hand through his hair and breathed in deeply. “Guess we’re on our way. I’m gonna grab a coffee; want a cup of tea or something?”

     “Negative, Captain,” Spock promptly replied, turning his chair slightly to face his captain.

     Jim waited, eyebrows raised, blue eyes dancing.

     Spock blinked at him, recognizing his captain’s illogical habit of finding humor in insisting on Spock’s use of human expressions. Vulcans do not sigh, but the slight shift of the set of his shoulders could have interpreted as such. “Thank you.”

     “Ha!” Jim exclaimed. “I’ll make a human out of you yet.”

     “There is no need to be insulting, sir,” replied Spock evenly, but he allowed the corners of his mouth to rise an infinitesimal amount.

     Appeased, Jim chuckled and rose from his chair to walk to the replicator in the back of the craft. He could almost feel his friend’s intense gaze following him. As he waited for his coffee to appear, he snuck a peek back towards the control console. Indeed, Spock had turned and was studying him. Jim smirked and Spock raised an eyebrow, amusement and exasperation flashing through his very human brown eyes before he turned back to his instruments.

     Returning to his seat, Jim sipped at his coffee and made his usual scowl at the taste. He looked over the boards and noted nothing out of the ordinary. Satisfied, he let his gaze wander over the cockpit. The _Copernicus_ was one of the few shuttlecraft designed specifically for long-range travel. Fitted with engines capable of a respectable warp factor two point five, deflectors and screens, and extended cabin space, she had an almost posh feel to her. Despite the relative comfort, Jim shifted restlessly; not even a half-hour into their flight and his incessant need to be active was encouraging his mind to wander. The captain found himself watching Spock’s fingers move gracefully over the console. He often caught his gaze lingering over his friend’s hands. Perhaps it was because one of his last memories before his life had ebbed away was Spock’s hand pressed against the transparent aluminum door, seeking unsuccessfully to touch Jim’s own.

     Wincing at the memory, Jim averted his eyes, instead staring out at the blurred star trails through the main screen. He was a naturally tactile person, using casual touches to confer affection, express camaraderie, or to convey encouragement or approval. Vulcans, being touch-sensitive telepaths, rarely instigated or tolerated physical contact. Jim wondered what he would have felt if they had been able to touch, back in the warp core. Maybe he could have understood why Spock had reacted so strongly to Jim’s death, having remained almost impassive through the loss of his planet, mother, and even in the face of his own demise on Nibiru. Maybe Jim could have better understood the strong affection he had for the Vulcan, the underlying need to touch, the irresistible pull that brought them together even after violence, seeming betrayal and misunderstandings, despite their contrasting personalities, even across universes.

     Lost in his musings, Jim was startled to glance over and meet large dark eyes. Spock was looking at him with a strange almost-expression on his face, the barest crease between his slanted brows. Jim felt his face flush, even though there was no way for his friend to have known what he was thinking. He mimicked Spock’s usual raised brow and offered a questioning smile. The Vulcan’s eyes widened slightly before his face returned to its normal implacable state. “We are on course and on schedule, Captain. We shall reach our destination in twenty-two point seven hours.”

     Never one to give away his hand unnecessarily, Jim merely nodded in acknowledgment and, settling back in his chair, busied himself with checking his messages and recent shipboard departmental briefs.

 

 

 

     They had been traveling for just over ten hours. Spock had remained in the co-pilot’s seat, monitoring the controls and working quietly on reports. Not wanting to interrupt his first officer’s concentration, and feeling slightly useless, Jim reclined on a fold-out bunk towards the back. He had been attempting to sleep, but now he found himself again watching his friend. In the dimmed interior light, and with the forward viewscreen now shuttered, Spock’s form was backlit by the multi-colored lights on the console. Jim recalled a planetary exploration mission they’d had several months before. The team had beamed down at the edge of a dense forest, and Jim, ever espousing the phrase “to boldly go”, had wandered towards the trees, amazed by the almost immediate darkness that surrounded him due to the density of the vegetation. Spock, predictably, had followed his captain, tricorder at the ready, and Jim remembered his own surprise and excitement when the trees had released a type of pollen at the intrusion. The pollen had glowed in the darkness, changing color as it caught the air currents. Jim had laughed aloud at the wonder of it, and eventually noticed Spock looking at him, head tilted slightly, the faintest smile curving his mouth, the pollen casting a colored halo on his dark hair. Jim remembered thinking that his friend was beautiful.

     Feeling the need to break his current train of thought, Jim pulled himself up off the bunk, stretched his back, and wandered to the front of the shuttle, throwing himself with deliberate lack of grace into the pilot’s chair.

     “I trust you were able to rest,” the Vulcan commented without a pause in his rapid typing.

     “Yeah, sort of,” Jim replied through a huge yawn. He leaned over the central panel to peer at Spock’s screen. “You still compiling that report on sector seven-nine-six?”

     “Affirmative, Captain.” Spock’s fingers stopped, and he regarded Jim intently. “I shall have the draft ready in twenty-two point six minutes, if you would care to peruse it at that time.”

     “Can’t I just look at the pictures?” Jim grinned. “And, it’s Jim, by the way. Again. Please. I’ll get enough ‘Captain this, Captain that’ at the summit.”

     Now he got the eyebrow. “Jim. I fail to understand why you insist on behaving as if your intelligence is significantly less than it is.”

     “It keeps people guessing,” Jim said, poking at his own screen. He again called up the message that had sent them on this merry joyride in the first place. Admiral Evan Hamilton, newly promoted and in charge of Starfleet intelligence after the ignominious end of Section thirty-one, had called for a top secret meeting of the command teams of the three starships currently within Beta quadrant to meet at Outpost J, a more-or-less central location within the outermost sector that served as a fueling depot, but moonlighted as a military position. The message did not provide details beyond the meeting site, stardate, and transportation instructions. To preserve secrecy, the ships in question would continue their standard orders while the command teams traveled by shuttlecraft along highly classified trajectories. Spock had privately expressed reservations about the safety of the plan, and the captain, himself remembering another time when several command teams had been assembled in a single location, concurred. But the orders were confirmed from the highest levels, so here they were.

     Spock was still watching him, apparently waiting for a more substantial answer to his query, and noticed the content of Jim’s screen, as well as the captain’s deepening frown. “You are concerned about the meeting,” the Vulcan said quietly. It was not a question.

     “Yeah, I’m concerned. Not a mention of why we’re going, which is never good. And the Admiralty isn’t exactly stacked with geniuses these days, so I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a problem that will need to be fixed yesterday and with twice the manpower we’ve got available.” Jim glanced over, blue eyes suddenly hard.

     Spock inclined his head slightly. “ _Kaiidth_ , Jim. What is, is.”

     “Well, it is until we have to fix it,” Jim replied, a bit dryly. He leaned back and swiveled his chair to face his first officer. Now that he had Spock’s attention, he was reluctant to let it go. “The report can wait a bit; want to indulge me in a game of chess?”

     “Of course, Jim. I will join you in a moment, as soon as... .” Spock’s sentence was abruptly cut off by an explosive sound from the rear of the craft. Alarms blared, restraints automatically snapped around the men’s bodies, and the cabin lights came full-on. The shuttle shuddered violently and the infrastructure moaned as they suddenly dropped out of warp.

     “What the fuck just happened?” Jim yelled, his hands flying over the boards. He could smell smoke in the cabin, and the panels in front of him were lit up in red. His neck ached from being wrenched sideways and he tasted blood where he had bitten his tongue.

     “Engine failure. Environmental system failure. Structural faults detected in main thrusters and impulse drive. External coolant leak. Internal hull integrity holding. Screens at sixty-five percent.” Spock’s rapid-fire response was delivered almost as fast as Jim saw the displays register. A new alarm sounded, high-pitched and insistent. Spock looked sharply at the sensor readouts and then at his commanding officer. “Captain, sensors indicate a contact bearing three-eleven mark five, incoming on high impulse. Estimate we will be within their weapons and transporter range in two point two minutes.”

     “Shit!” Already running high on adrenaline, Jim felt a fresh chill go up his spine as he surveyed the emergency diagnostic readout in front of him. “We’re a goddamn sitting duck. Any chance at all of repairs?”

     “Negative, Captain,” Spock replied, his voice calm. “Recommend beacon deployment and message on emergency comm channel.”

     “Do it,” Jim responded immediately. The shuttlecraft was not equipped with much by way of defenses. No phasers, limited shields. Their only hope was to get off a message on the emergency coded frequency.

     Spock’s hands flew. “Emergency beacon deployed, sir.” He flipped a switch. “Shuttlecraft _Copernicus_ declaring a state of emergency. Engines inoperable and environmental systems failing. External contact approaching with possible hostile intentions. Position follows.” Spock keyed in their position and status logs and turned to his captain. “Contact will be within range in one point five minutes.”

     Jim set his jaw and hit the switch to activate the viewscreen. He wanted to see what was bearing down on them. This was all too convenient to be a coincidence. “Spock, if all command teams’ locations were compromised... .” His voice trailed off.

     “If they do not immediately destroy this vessel, they will no doubt wish to take us alive, “ the Vulcan responded. “Shields are, at present, sufficient to prevent direct beam-out, but we could be boarded directly via the airlock.”

     “Fuck that,” Jim hissed. He released his restraints and swung around to the weapons locker behind the pilot’s chair. He passed a phaser and extra power pack to his first officer and pulled out another for himself, checking the charge. The craft’s external airlock was towards the back. They could close the crash doors directly behind the forward section if necessary, but that wouldn’t hold off determined intruders for very long.

     “There, Captain, the contact is now visible on the viewscreen.” Spock’s face was impassive, but his voice betrayed a hint of surprise. Approaching them was a Starfleet-issue long-range interceptor. Interceptors were built as front-line heavy fighters, fast and deadly, with a crew complement of about ten and most of the ship’s bulk devoted to engines and weapons systems. “They are scanning us, sir. No attempt at communication as yet.”

     “Hail them,” Jim commanded. His steady outward demeanor belied the storm of his thoughts. As harsh recent experience with the disgraced Admiral Marcus taught him, Starfleet identity did not necessarily mean benevolent intent.

     Spock hit the comm button. “This is Starfleet shuttlecraft _Copernicus_ hailing approaching vessel. Respond.”

     The interceptor loomed to a halt tens of meters from the front of the shuttle. The comm channel crackled to life and a heavily accented male voice barked from the speakers, “Starfleet officers, you will stand down and prepare to be boarded. Resistance will not be tolerated.”

     “Identify yourselves,” Jim snapped.

     “Spare us your noise, Starfleet. You are in no position to resist. Your environmental systems have failed, have they not? We will simply wait until your air grows thin, and your weapons fall useless from your hands.”

     “And we have sent a message to our fleet,” Jim replied belligerently. “You will find it difficult to wait patiently while being pursued by a starship.”

     A barely stifled chuckle was heard over the link, and a flash of brilliant phaser light to the port side of the shuttle signaled the end of the emergency beacon. The voice returned, “We have intercepted your message and destroyed your beacon-no aid will come for you. You will be brought on board and experience the latest glorious invention in truth-finding. Tell me, Starfleet, have you heard of the mind-sifter?”

     Jim froze. He shared a look with Spock. The mind-sifter had been identified by Federation intelligence after having been used eight months ago on Commodore Ikamura of the science vessel _Valiant_ , which had strayed into Klingon-occupied space on a routine cruise. Ikamura had exchanged himself for his crew’s lives, but the ship’s main engines and communications had been destroyed and the computers wiped, and by the time they had limped to the nearest starbase, Ikamura had already been found dumped on a nearby colony. He was barely alive and in a mentally vegetative state, having apparently told the Klingons everything they wished to know of Federation defenses and command codes. For six months, Starfleet had been hard-pressed to defend against raids on outlying systems and Federation computer experts had to re- program multiple security protocols after terabytes of classified data files were hacked. The fiasco had led Starfleet to order command personnel to avoid being exposed to the mind-sifter at all costs. Protecting Federation security meant suicide, if there was no other choice.

     The captain reached out and killed the comm link. “Spock, how long do we have before our air gives out?"

     “Approximately three hours and ten minutes, Captain.”

     “What do you make of their claim that they prevented our emergency communication from getting out?”

     “I would consider it valid, sir. Our short-range sensors are picking up an energy-dampening field originating from that vessel. The field is of sufficient strength to significantly restrict subspace transmissions.”

     Jim took a breath and thought hard. _No communications, no weapons. Engines gone, life support on its way out. They can vaporize us easily enough if they wanted to, but made a point of mentioning the mind-sifter, as if they knew... ._ “Spock! Why would they tell us about the mind-sifter? Could they know of the kill-order?”

     The Vulcan bit his lower lip. “Perhaps, Captain. They obviously knew enough classified information to intercept our position, and obtained highly restricted access to sabotage the shuttlecraft.”

     Jim stiffened. “Sabotage. You’re sure?” He was actually pretty sure himself, but he wanted to hear Spock say it. Sabotage would mean that there was a high likelihood that _Enterprise_ herself was compromised, his crew in danger.

     “It is logical, Jim,” Spock replied gently. “The systems involved appear to be specifically targeted to prevent our escape and to restrict our continued survival. The rapid appearance of our adversaries confirms it. Given their apparent knowledge, I fail to understand why they would inform us of their intentions regarding the mind-sifter unless they wish us to extinguish ourselves.”

     “So all that would be found would be a dead hulk of a shuttle and two bodies.” Jim’s voice was steel. “So, we off ourselves, or they get to do it anyway, plus probably get some bonus information from the interrogation.” He glanced up and met Spock’s unwavering gaze. “Maybe they’re bluffing about the device?”

     “Perhaps,” replied the Vulcan, “but I do not hold the odds of our survival to be promising in any case. If we invoke the kill-order, we die. If we stay here until our diminishing environmental support renders us unconscious, we will be captured. If mind-sifter is used, you will die, or be reduced to a vegetative state. To preserve the illusion of non-interference, our deaths would be necessary in any case, and most likely made to appear to be a result of shuttlecraft malfunction.”

     “Wait, wait,” Jim interjected, “you said I would die or be a vegetable. What about you? You don’t think they would use it on you?”

     “I believe they would,” Spock answered archly, “but Vulcan mind techniques may be able to thwart the device. Intelligence inquiries after Commodore Ikamura was discovered focused on the methods by which information was extracted, corresponding to the areas of greatest damage to his brain. Vulcan shields may be sufficient to deter said methods.”

     “Well, bully for you,” Jim said sarcastically; he couldn’t help himself. Spock apparently chose to ignore his captain’s flippant comment, turning back towards his board. But Jim noticed that the dark eyes seemed focused elsewhere, the set of his shoulders tense.

 

 

 

     Two hours went by. Their captors appeared to be standing by their stated intent to simply wait until the shuttle’s air supply ran out. Jim had moved to the back of the craft to see what he could do about the engines, and Spock had remained at the forward console, using modulation techniques to attempt to break through the dampening field. The harsh voice they had heard earlier from the other vessel interrupted them only twice more to gloat over their non-progress and to reiterate the earlier threat. Jim had been wracking his brain. He knew his strength as a captain came from his ability to make intuitive leaps, wrestling solutions to impossible problems by bending or breaking the rules. He abhorred the idea of being completely out of control, of a no-win scenario, and the fact that he seemed to be facing one now shook him to his core. Even when confronted with his own death in the warp core, he had known that his sacrifice was on his terms, his choice. Now, he would die, and his best friend with him, for what? He knew the long-reaching consequences of their knowledge falling into the wrong hands, but he couldn’t help the fierce anger that was welling up within him. Who were their captors? What was the end-game? Who had betrayed them? He thought of the _Enterprise_ , somewhere out there, unaware of a saboteur on board. He thought of the possibility of the other command teams facing this same scenario. He thought of the damn _Kobayashi Maru_. Finally, he thought of Spock, who had been forced to watch him die before. Well, this time, at least, it would be quick, he would be sure of that.

     Another half-hour passed, and the air was growing noticeably stale and thin. The engines were hopeless. They couldn’t even muster enough power to make a solid final run at the interceptor. And the shuttle had no self-destruct mechanism. Squaring his shoulders, he walked back to the front of the shuttle. Bones was going to kill him for dying twice in two years.

     Spock heard him approach, his hands stilled over his board, but he didn’t turn around. “Spock,” Jim said, his voice pitched quietly but firmly.

     A pause, then, “Yes, Captain.”

     “Spock, look at me. Can you think of anything we have left to try, anything we may have missed?”

     The Vulcan finally turned to face his captain. Something flashed through his eyes but he made no response.

     Jim nodded, and moved to lower himself into the pilot’s chair. He put his hands on his knees so they wouldn’t shake and solidly met Spock’s eyes, his jaw set. “Spock, I want you to perform _tal-shaya_ on me. You can decide whether to stop your own heart. If you think you truly could withstand the mind-sifter, I would want you to stay alive and have a chance, but... .” His voice suddenly cracked and he stopped.

     Spock stared at him, his eyes appearing almost black against the sudden pallor of his skin, but he didn’t respond. Jim forced a smile that he hoped was reassuring. “Look, it’s better this way. Quick, painless, you told me so yourself a while back. We’ve got no other choice. I don’t want to end up like Ikamura.”

     There was still no response from the Vulcan and Jim felt a twinge of irritation. “Come on, Spock, you’ve got to... .”

     “No.” Spock’s voice was soft. “I cannot. I _cannot_ , Jim!” A shudder ran through his body and he blinked, his gaze shifting to focus on the bulkhead over Jim’s shoulder.

     “Spock.” Jim hesitated, and then, very slowly, reached out a hand and placed it on the Vulcan’s shoulder. When Spock didn’t flinch away, or even react, Jim let his hand gently move once down his friend’s arm and back up again. He felt the heat from Spock’s body through the uniform, the muscles beneath his touch tight and unforgiving. Jim was about to remove his hand when, to his surprise, Spock lifted his own to cover Jim’s. Jim felt a strange sensation where their skin touched, almost like pins and needles. He saw Spock nod, as if he had come to a decision, and, gently grasping Jim’s hand, moved it from his shoulder to hold between them. Jim looked down at their loosely clasped hands, feeling the odd, pleasant tingling along his palm and fingers. The captain knew he could pull away easily, but he didn’t. He remembered all too well that they hadn’t been able to touch the last time. And he needed this. He wanted this, whatever this was.

     Jim heard Spock’s voice as if from far away. His friend’s hand was so warm. “There is something, Jim. I would not offer it unless...”.

     “What is it?” Jim responded absently. He didn’t hold out much hope. If there was anything to be done, Spock would have mentioned it before, surely.

     “I could...create a mental bond between us. I may be able to use the full bonding link to protect and shield your mind from the device.”

     Jim looked up, brow furrowed as he tried to remember what little he knew of Vulcan customs. “A mental bond? Don’t you need a healer for that?”

     Spock studied Jim’s hand. “Not in this case, Jim. Our minds are quite compatible: so much so that a spontaneous link already exists. I would only need to strengthen it through a full meld.” He met Jim’s eyes levelly, tightening his fingers slightly over the human’s. “This is why I lost my emotional controls so badly when you...died. I did not recognize our connection until I felt the pain of a tearing link in my mind and realized what was happening, what had happened. You are _t’hy’la_ to me, Jim.” There was an intensity behind that word that was palpable.

     Jim’s mind was racing. A mental link? Maybe he hadn’t been crazy to think that he could predict his first officer’s thoughts. Maybe that was why he could always read Spock so well, why they seemed drawn to each other. He felt suddenly confused and more than a little angry and abruptly pulled his hand free of the Vulcan’s. “I don’t know what that word means, Spock. Why didn’t you tell me about this link before?”

     Spock withdrew his hand and straightened in his chair. His face closed off into its normal impassivity, but there was pain in his eyes. “You would not have accepted it,” he said simply.

     Jim shook his head mutely. That was no answer, but they were running out of time. He wasn’t sure what to make of the whole situation, but he knew that Spock was offering a chance for them both to survive. From the way his friend had presented it, he knew it might not work. He knew he understood neither heads nor tails of Vulcan mental disciplines and that he would be jumping in the deep end with no idea of how to swim. He might still have his brain sieved and wind up dead, but, in the end, he trusted Spock. And he hated losing. _Leaping before looking,_ he thought wryly.

     “Do it,” Jim said.

 

 


	2. Captured

Chapter Two: Captured

 

 

     Jim slowly came back to himself. He kept his eyes closed, body limp, attempting to ascertain his condition and location before his consciousness was recognized by his captors. His head ached, his throat burned, and his body felt weak and sore. He was seated, and he could feel the sharp bite of restraints around his wrists, waist, and ankles. The air was cold and carried a sharp, metallic scent. In front of him, he heard shuffling, and his head was suddenly rocked by a powerful blow.

     “I know you are aware, Kirk. About time you came around. Your Vulcan has been awake for quite a while. We probably should have just gone ahead and started with him, but I had the thought that dumping his brain dead captain back in his cell might ultimately help to break him down.” A throaty laugh followed this statement.

     Jim raised his head defiantly, eyes narrowed. A Klingon stood in front of him, incongruously wearing a nonmilitary dark red robe. Behind him stood two burly Orions, armed to the teeth. Mercenaries, by the look of them. Civilian Klingon head honcho, non-Federation hired guns, Starfleet ship; nothing was making sense.

     “I have to say that I am quite surprised you didn’t follow through with your kill-order,” the Klingon continued. “I would not have taken you for a coward. Maybe this will be over sooner than I anticipated.” He sounded vaguely disappointed.

     Jim remained silent. Aside from the pounding headache, he didn’t feel much different than he had before the meld. He hoped whatever Spock had done had worked. He fixed his expression into one of uninterested disdain. The Klingon studied him for a moment, perhaps looking for some sign of fear or a final speech. In the absence of either, the alien made a sharp noise of disgust. “Proceed!”

     From behind the captain, rough unseen hands forced a metallic band around his head and attached leads to his jaw and cheeks. The positions of the leads produced a startling flashback to the meld, as Jim remembered warm, gentle fingers meeting his psi points. He heard a low electronic whine begin behind him and the Klingon stepped closer as Jim began to feel a burning sensation wash over his head where the device was connected. He couldn’t help the wave of panic that washed over him. _Spock! Goddammit, let me know if this fucking worked!_ The burning sensation intensified and Jim felt sweat break out over his body. His muscles clenched involuntarily, and he felt intense nausea. The pain continued to grow, and Jim suddenly had a violent urge to say something, anything. The Klingon nodded at something over the captain’s right shoulder and peered at Jim.

     “This is just the first level, Kirk. There are seven, but so far no human has made it past three. I am going to ask you questions and you are going to answer me. I will know if you are lying. What is your full name?”

     Jim gritted his teeth. “Fuck you.”

     The Klingon burst out laughing. “A name shared by many humans, apparently! Perhaps you need more persuasion.” Again, the nod, and the pain increased. Jim felt tears form at the corners of his eyes. His arms and legs spasmed and he gasped for breath.

     “Care to try again, Earther? What is your full name?”

     “F-f-f-uck! J-james...T-t-t...No!” Jim couldn’t help it. All he could feel was pain, and his mouth seemed to move on its own accord. He couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t... .

     All of a sudden, his vision whited out and he felt a strange weightless sensation. He had somehow retreated and could no longer feel his body properly. He was aware of the pain, and could sense his body’s physical responses to the agony, but he was floating, observing like a third party behind a transparent shield. His first thought was that he had completely lost control and was spilling his guts out to his interrogator. But, as he floated, he became aware of another presence, a familiar, strong warmth somewhere on the other side of the shield, protecting him, fighting for him. Time was meaningless. He sensed the pain growing, the Klingon’s wrath growing with it. He was helpless. Shielded, but helpless. This fight was by another’s will. He couldn’t feel the pain, but he could feel fear and profound helplessness. He felt like he was falling again, this time into blackness. And the fear was all that was left when he finally faded away.

     Jim opened his eyes again to the sight of a grey cell floor. He was lying on his side in a puddle of his own vomit. His entire body ached and his head was a throbbing mess. His throat was raw, as if he’d been screaming. He probably had. He was alive, but the sensation of being back in control of his body was disorienting. Somewhere in the back of his head he felt the echo of the burning pain from the mind-sifter. It pulsed inexorably, and he felt his stomach roil again. He dry heaved, his body convulsing weakly against the floor. He was cold. Pushing himself over, away from the vomit, he closed his eyes briefly to try to center himself. _Spock_. Jim forced his eyes open again and gingerly sat up. He managed a brief survey of the room, empty except for him. And then he saw it. A wide smear of dried green blood against the far wall. Another smear across the floor leading to the sealed door. _Fuckfuckfuck._ Jim wondered if he’d know if Spock were dead. Another wave of echoed pain rolled from inside his head, and Jim’s body shuddered as his brain finally worked out where that pain was coming from. He realized that if Spock’s shields failed, Jim couldn’t stop being drawn down into the pain and insanity after him. Helpless again, he curled into a ball and gasped for breath. _Hold on, hold on._

 

 

 

     The pain stopped abruptly, but Jim remained as he was, lying on his side, knees to his chest, facing the closed door to his cell. Spock was dead, perhaps, or finally unconscious. At the moment he felt nothing but relief that the steadily growing agony had ceased. Minutes passed, and Jim realized that he still felt something at the back of his mind. Whatever it was paled in comparison to the vicious sensations from before, but as he concentrated he could sense it, like a wound, raw, open, and exposed. Jim felt a strong aversion to investigating it any further, but it seemed to be growing, reaching for him. Unable to recoil from his own mind, Jim pushed himself up and crawled back against the wall, leaning on its cold support. The ship suddenly shuddered around him, and the lights inside the cell flickered and went dark. Jim fought a sense of panic mixed with hope. The _Enterprise_? The emergency lights came on, and Jim faintly heard the sound of alarm claxons. The sensations inside his mind continued to grow, and Jim felt the urge to do something, to be ready, just in case. Summoning whatever strength was left to him, and desperately trying to ignore the creeping ache in his head, Jim rose to his feet, bracing himself against the wall. There was an abrupt screech of metal, and a loud pop and the door unexpectedly slid smoothly open. The hallway outside was dark, amber alert lights flaring, and smoke hung in the air. A single familiar figure was silhouetted in the doorframe.

     “Spock!” Jim choked out, his voice hoarse. He struggled over to his first officer. “Are you alright?”

     “We must make haste, Jim, they have activated the self-destruct.” Spock’s voice sounded weak, but Jim couldn’t make out much in the semi-darkness surrounding them. “Can you travel?”

     Jim wasn’t sure how he was even standing at this point. “No choice. What’s the plan?”

     “Life pod. One deck down and on the starboard side. We may encounter resistance.” Spock had turned as he spoke, glancing both ways along the corridor. Jim noticed the disruptor in the Vulcan’s right hand as well as the way his left arm seemed to dangle uselessly against his side. There wasn’t time to do anything about it, though, and, grunting an acknowledgment, Jim forced himself to follow his friend into the hallway.

     They had only made it about ten yards before Spock faltered and half-fell against the bulkhead. The ache in Jim’s head flared into a scream, and Jim was on the verge of collapsing as well until he felt the agony sharply recede, as if deliberately being shoved away. Spock had pushed himself back to his feet, but was swaying, and Jim, calling on the last vestiges of his own willpower, eased the disruptor from his friend’s hand and pulled the Vulcan’s right arm over his shoulders.

     The remainder of the distance to the life pod was a desperate struggle of weakening human muscle and crumbling Vulcan mental shields. The alert lighting had shifted from yellow to a pulsing red, indicating that destruction was imminent. The corridors had become choked with smoke, and, from far away, Jim could hear shouting and the clang of metal on metal. As they reached the pod and Jim punched the access panel, he felt a passing sense of relief that the vessel was of familiar Fleet design. He shoved Spock towards one of the seats in the cramped pod, and hit the button to shut the door and cycle the airlock. The panels automatically lit up, and a pleasant, feminine voice could be heard over the speaker. “Twelve, eleven, ten...”

     “Fuck!” Jim pulled his harness over his shoulders and, praying that Spock had been able to do the same, yanked the release lever. For a terrible instant, it seemed like nothing was happening, and then, with a stomach-dropping jerk, the pod ejected through the outer hatch and automatic thrusters ignited, propelling it away from the interceptor’s hull.

     They had ejected not a second too soon. Almost as an after-thought, the ship in front of them seemed to undulate and then explosively expand in a brilliant flash that quickly consumed itself. The small viewscreen darkened automatically to avoid overload, and the shock wave rocked the pod. Jim held onto his seat in a white-knuckled grip. The lighting flickered but returned, and seconds later all was still, the lights on the panels a reassuring green, all silent except for the slight hiss of the air recirculators and the faint vibration of the thrusters, evidently coded to fire until a minimum distance had been achieved.

     Jim finally got a good look at his friend. Spock had managed to fasten his safety harness, and it was the only thing keeping him from sprawling out onto the deck. His uniform was soaked with green blood, both dried and fresh, seeping from a deep wound through his left shoulder. There were bruises on his face, as well as the surface burns where the mind sifter leads had been attached. Blood had run from his nose and ears, and his face was paler than Jim had ever seen it, but he was conscious. The captain unfastened his own harness, meaning to go to Spock’s side, and himself slid bonelessly to the floor as overtaxed muscles suddenly gave out. He lay, unmoving, his blurred vision eventually clearing enough for him to meet the Vulcan’s eyes.

     “What the fuck happened back there?” Jim asked, his voice no more than a whisper. “How... ?”

     “I retreated into a...trance when they increased the device’s intensity beyond a certain point. Their unfamiliarity with my...physiology caused them to...to perceive me as deceased and shut off the device and...release the restraints. I disarmed...one of the guards and discharged...a sonic...grenade, triggering the local blast doors and allowing my escape. I then accessed the...computer mainframe. When they became... aware of my breach of their security protocols and were trapped by the blast doors, they...initiated the self-destruct.” Spock’s voice was rough, and so low that Jim could barely hear it. He hadn’t moved since the shock wave had hit them, his head leaning back against the bulkhead.

     “Good,” Jim replied, laying his own head back down against the deck. “Who the fuck were they? Klingons and Orion mercs with classified Starfleet access? I wonder if they got anyone else.” He knew he wasn’t making much sense. The aching feeling in his mind was increasing again. He brought his hands to his temples, pressing to ward it away.

     There was a single rasping breath, and then Spock’s voice, growing weaker still. “I downloaded... transmissions and...ship log...onto datachip...before destruct.”

     “You’re a fucking superhero,” Jim whispered. The pain was growing sharper, unbearable, and the feeling of panicked helplessness was returning. Jim pressed deeper into his temples, moving his head from side to side. “Is this you or me, Spock? I can’t stop it. Please stop it.” He curled in on himself on the small space on the floor of the pod as the gaping wound in his mind swallowed him whole. “No, no, no, please, I can’t do this again... .”

     He heard rather than saw Spock’s head slam once and then twice against the bulkhead, and felt the back of his mind go blank and cold, the pain receding as the Vulcan went limp, his eyes half-closed. As before in the cell Jim could only lay there for a moment, feeling a twisted sense of relief mixed with shock. “Jesus Christ,” he choked, “please don’t be dead. I’ll kill you if you’re dead. Don’t be dead.” He pushed himself to his knees and leaned over the Vulcan’s body to feel at his neck for a pulse. He found it, slower than it should be, but steady. Jim let his fingers linger for a second on his friend’s skin in mute apology, and then dragged himself back into the opposing jumpseat. The blurred vision had returned, and Jim’s hands trembled as he keyed in the emergency code for the communications beacon. The _Enterprise_ would be monitoring that frequency, unless the saboteur had been diligent in eliminating all possible avenues of help. He slumped back into the seat, feeling the room begin to spin around him, and fumbled with the security harness before his head lolled forward and he finally lost consciousness.

 

 


	3. Awakening And Conversations

Chapter Three: Awakening and Conversations

_Bright lights. A rush of sound. McCoy’s voice raised in a slurry of profanity. The sense of being in two places. For an instant he could see his own body slumped forward in the seat as two nurses cut away the tangled security harness. Then he was himself again, and his mind was an open wound, raw, and he was being pulled out and away, and he was screaming._

_Pain, pain, and more pain. He couldn’t stop it. He was helpless and afraid. He couldn’t control. He needed to control. His shields were gone, and his mind was exposed, and on fire. He had lost command. Given it away. He could feel everything and he had no choice._

 

 

     “Dammit, Jim, what the fuck is going on? Where the fuck are those neurological scans? What do you mean, additional synaptic pathways? That’s impossible. Fucking hobgoblin. Their pain readings are still off the charts. Try a psi-inhibitor. Well, why the fuck not? The new development is in those areas, isn’t it?”

_He didn’t want to let go. He reached, but something was in the way. He was losing himself. He was freeing himself. He cried out as half of himself vanished. T’hy’la, no... !_

 

    “Jim. Can you hear me? Come on, kid, wake up.”

     His eyes felt like sandpaper, and the lights in sickbay were too bright, but his friend’s voice was impossible to ignore. Jim slowly opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, feeling his sense of consciousness radiate outwards until he could feel his body, his head blissfully free of pain, his mind calm and his own again.

     “Bones. How long... ?” he rasped.

     “We found you about twenty-two hours ago. You were in pretty bad shape, kid.”

     Jim turned his head to search the room, the strange quiet in his mind making him suddenly terrified that Spock was dead after all. “Spock?”

     “He’s in an isolation room. Healing trance.” Bones pressed his mouth into a thin line and crossed his arms at Jim’s obvious relief. “Jim, they used the mind-sifter on you, didn’t they? We found the characteristic burn marks on both of you.” At the captain’s nod, the doctor frowned and shook his head.

     Jim met his friend’s eyes, hearing the unasked question. “You’re wondering why I’m not dead.”

     “Something like that. I’ve got my own hypothesis, but I want to hear it from you.”

     Jim looked away, focusing on the sensor embedded in the ceiling over the biobed. “Spock melded us. A bond. He was able to shield my mind from the worst of it.”

     McCoy grunted. “Thought so. Or something like that. Your neural patterns were in perfect sync when we brought you two on board. Guess he didn’t plan on his own brain being scrambled enough to drag you down with him, though.”

     Jim felt a chill run through him. “Is he going to be okay?”

     Now it was the doctor’s turn to avert his gaze. “I don’t know, Jim. The physical wounds were straightforward enough, but there was some significant neurological damage. Fucking Vulcan voodoo. We’ll know more when he comes out of it. If he comes out of it. The two of you were circling the drain when I put you on a psi-blocker on a fucking whim. You bounced back, but he went into arrest. We threw the kitchen sink at him and he eventually stabilized and went into the trance.”

     Jim stared at the ceiling, memories of the enemy vessel crystallizing in his mind. He didn’t want to think about what a close call it had been. “Bones, when you brought Spock in, did you find a datachip on him?”

     Bones seemed to startle at the sudden switch of topic. “Yeah, actually. Given the circumstances, I made sure to get it directly to Sulu. I haven’t heard anything since. Why?”

     “I’ve gotta talk to Sulu. Here. Right now.” Jim could barely hold up his head, but his command voice was back. McCoy’s mouth tightened, but he turned on his heel and walked to the wall unit, calling up to the bridge. Jim returned his gaze to the ceiling. The silence in the back of his mind felt deafening.

 

 

 

    Six hours later, Jim had bullied McCoy into releasing him to his cabin. Sulu had briefed his captain on what had happened since the command team had departed on their ill-fated mission almost three days before. The _Enterprise_ had received word from the summit that the _Copernicus_ had missed its scheduled arrival, and Sulu had immediately set out to back-track the shuttle’s expected trajectory. They had made it within range of the life pod’s transmissions and had brought the pod on board, as well as what was left of the damaged shuttlecraft and the destroyed interceptor. Scotty’s examination of the shuttle had immediately led to a security alert, as additional sabotage was deemed a valid and imminent threat.

     Upon learning of the attack, Hamilton had declared the summit compromised and, abandoning the attempt at operational secrecy in favor of security, arranged an armed escort for the participants to Starbase Twenty-three, where he also ordered the _Enterprise_ to rendezvous. By that time, Sulu had ordered Chekov to personally decrypt the information on Spock’s datachip. Spock had managed to download information from the interceptor’s mainframe that referenced previous attacks in Beta quadrant, as well as within Klingon space, and directly mentioned the existence of operatives acting within Starfleet itself. It wasn’t obvious what the end-game was, but it was powerful enough intelligence to cause Sulu to think twice about simply passing it along over potentially compromised subspace channels. Also, Sulu wanted to give security enough time to work over the damaged remains of the ships currently in the cargo bay, and to thoroughly investigate the crew for suspected saboteurs. Therefore, they were headed to the starbase at a leisurely warp one point five, and would arrive in about eighteen hours.

     The captain sat stiffly at his desk, reading the incoming security briefs and operational status reports. Bones had allowed him back to his room, but not back on duty, so Sulu remained in command. So far, all crew members were checking out clean and there was no evidence of tampering, either with ship’s systems or with the computer banks. Engineering was checking out the other shuttles, and investigating the possibility that the _Copernicus_ may have been set up before even been assigned to the _Enterprise_. So far, the lack of further sabotage and the fact that none of the other summit participants had been attacked was leading Jim to the uneasy conclusion that the ultimate target had been himself, or Spock, or both together. And it hadn’t been a kidnapping, or even a real search for information. The goal had appeared to be for them to be found dead and for it to look like an accident. “Fuck,” Jim muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. He and Spock were well-known, and had caused a lot of people a lot of trouble, that was for sure. He wasn’t certain if the knowledge that they were being particularly targeted would help the investigation or make it more convoluted.

     A message flashed on his screen, coded eyes-only. Opening it, he read new orders from Admiral Hamilton, who had been alerted to the existence of the retrieved intelligence as well as the latest inconclusive results from the security investigation, and was demanding a full report as soon as possible from both the captain and the first officer. Hamilton also had scheduled a full debrief almost immediately upon the arrival of the _Enterprise_ at the starbase. Jim pushed down the urge to respond with a nastily-worded message reminding the admiral that said first officer was still critically ill in sickbay and sent off an acknowledgment.

     He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His body was full of painkillers, but he still felt incredibly weak and achy. The void in his head was particularly troubling, even though Bones had explained that it was probably the result of the mental link with Spock being blocked by the medication. Jim had looked in on his first officer before departing sickbay, but had been quickly hustled out by Bones. He knew that McCoy had an instinctive mistrust of what he called Vulcan mind tricks, and he also realized that the doctor had been shaken by what had happened after their life pod was found. Jim’s own experience had been terrifying, but he was deeply worried about his half-Vulcan friend. Spock’s actions had saved his life; once by protecting him from the device, and then again in finding them a way off the ship. Jim remembered holding Spock’s hand in the shuttle, and then recalled the sight of that same hand coated in green blood, hanging limply after the Vulcan had bashed his head against the bulkhead of the life pod, knocking himself out so that his pain would no longer reach Jim through the bond.

     With a shudder, Jim rose from his seat, and, not bothering to strip out of his uniform, shuffled to his bunk and lay down. He felt cold inside and out and buried himself in blankets. Completely exhausted, but knowing that nightmares would be inevitable, he popped one of McCoy’s infamous red pills and drank a glass of water, his body surrendering to sleep minutes later.

_  
_

 

_He was standing on the shore of a lake. The water was clear and calm, and he could see the bottom. He reached in, and his hand slipped into the water. It was so warm, and beckoned him in further. But, as he reached, he saw a dark figure floating in the depths, distorted and curled in on itself. He pulled back as the figure suddenly stirred and stretched out to him and he leaped backwards to the safety of land..._

_Jim!_

 

 

     Jim gasped awake, certain that he had heard someone call his name. The strange dream echoed in his mind, and he shivered, feeling chilled. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he checked the chronometer and realized he had been out for over ten hours. “Shit,” he mumbled, and reached over to hit the comm. “Kirk to sickbay.”

“McCoy, here. Funny you should call, Jim. Your hobgoblin just rejoined the land of the living.”

     “On my way. Kirk out.”

 

 

 

     Jim had only lingered long enough to stop in the bathroom and call the bridge for a quick status report. But the instant he entered the main area of sickbay he knew something was wrong. The isolation ward was shut and three nurses were clustered around a nearby biobed, whispering and casting sidelong looks towards the sealed doors. One of them noticed Jim and straightened up, his expression carefully blank.

     “McCoy?” barked the captain.

     “In Iso B, sir. Mr. Spock’s regained consciousness.”

     Jim nodded a terse acknowledgment and punched the access button beside the doors, which slid open promptly. As soon as the doors parted, Jim could hear McCoy’s voice, muffled, but obviously raised in anger. Jim made sure the doors slid shut behind him before walking slowly towards the second isolation room down the hall, the doctor’s words becoming clearer with each step.

     “...dumb fucking luck, Spock. He can’t function on that stuff forever. What now? Or didn’t y’all think of that before diving headlong into his brain?”

     Spock’s reply was much quieter, and Jim paused just outside the door, ears straining to hear it. “The circumstances were most unusual and extreme, Doctor. When I am able to restore proper shield functionality and control, your drugs will no longer be necessary. To that end, I require meditation. Immediately.”

     “So, you’re tellin’ me you’ll still be in his brain, just sneaking around below the radar.”

     “Your response is illogical, Doctor.”

     “Listen, you green-blooded... .”

     “Bones!” Jim rounded the corner and came into the room, finally deciding enough was enough. McCoy was standing at the foot of the biobed, arms crossed, face flushed, eyes flashing. To Jim’s surprise, Spock, already dressed in uniform blacks, was standing, too, albeit almost as far into the corner of the room as seemed physically possible. His face was impassive, but his entire posture spoke of defensiveness. He was still dangerously pale, with sharp dark circles under his eyes and a pinched look about his face. Jim threw a glare at the doctor and stepped past him towards the Vulcan. “Spock! I’m glad you’re finally awake! Are you alright? How are you, um, feeling?”

     “I am physically functional, Captain. However, I require immediate meditation to attempt to restore my shields. I would prefer to retire to my quarters.” Spock’s eyes had fastened on Jim as soon as he had entered the room, and there was a strange intensity in them that belied the dispassionate tone of his voice.

     “Bones?” Jim’s tone was pleasant enough, but had an edge to it.

     The doctor shook his head and waved one arm dismissively. “Preliminary physical scans look fine, even the neurological damage. Damn if I know how that trance works. Vulcan mumbo jumbo. I can’t read what’s in his head, though. I’m a doctor, not a damn telepath. Are you still okay, Jim? Any pain? Do I need to give you another hypo?” He peered at the captain closely. “The meds may be wearing off; is that how you knew to call down here?”

     Jim’s eyes were still on Spock, and he noticed the Vulcan blink rapidly several times at McCoy’s words. “Bones, I’m fine. If Spock fixes his shields, maybe I won’t need the meds anyway. Right, Spock?”

     “Yes, Captain. With your permission, I will return to my quarters.”

     McCoy huffed, looking between Jim and Spock with an expression of extreme annoyance, and abruptly left the room, his footsteps overly loud. Jim glanced after him, and then turned back to Spock. With the doctor’s departure, the Vulcan’s stance relaxed demonstrably, and he let his previously crossed arms fall to his sides. “I apologize, Captain. I am presently unable to shield, and the doctor is most expressive.”

     “Yeah, tell me about it,” Jim sighed. He moved closer, worried. “Are you sure you’re alright to leave? Do you want me to walk you to your cabin?”

     Spock’s eyes softened. “Thank you, Jim, I...,” he began, but stopped and stiffened at the sound of McCoy’s returning footsteps.

     “Well, I thought you were going!” McCoy drawled loudly as he re-entered the room, brandishing a bio-monitor badge.

     “Indeed, Doctor. Captain.” Spock walked past them, plucking the badge from the doctor’s fingers without touching him, and disappeared through the doors.

     Jim waited until the Vulcan was out of earshot before rounding on the doctor. “Jesus fucking Christ, Bones,” he hissed, “what the hell was that? Yelling at him when he’s just awake after being fucking tortured almost to death?”

     Bones narrowed his eyes and moved right into Jim’s space. “I should be yelling at you, too, you infant. Fucking around with mind melds and whatnot. Do you have any concept of what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

     “I got myself out of a permanent vegetative state or being dead. Let’s start with that. He saved my life, Bones.”

     “Yeah. And now you get to live it with him in your head. Do you know what that might mean, Jim? No privacy, no secrets. You’re compromised. You think command’ll allow that in a starship captain? You could lose your ship!”

     Jim froze, and Bones backed off slightly when he saw dawning realization on his friend’s face. “It’s not like that, Bones.”

     “How do you know?” the doctor asked pointedly. “You’ve been on a blocker the whole time you’ve been back with us. Both of you could be fried and you’d never know it, with what I have you on. Jim, I called ahead to the starbase. There’s actually a Vulcan healer there as part of a research program on comparative genetics, and I asked for a consult.” At the captain’s sudden startled expression, Bones added, “I didn’t give out any details, don’t worry. But it’s your best chance of having that thing taken out of your head.”

     Jim stared at McCoy. He knew his friend was trying to act in his best interests, and he knew that a healer was a necessity in any case. He would have to reveal the presence of the bond in his report, and during the debrief. A healer’s assessment would probably be the next step Starfleet would take anyway, to ascertain his continued command fitness. But the idea of having the bond broken seemed wrong, somehow. Even with the traumatic memories of their captivity and escape, and even though it could mean his career, Jim felt strangely averse to wishing the connection completely gone. What was it Spock had called him? _T’hy’la_?

     McCoy sensed Jim’s capitulation and stepped back fully. “I don’t want to get on you like this, kid. I’m worried about what this all means, and I’m worried about your Vulcan. He was in the trance for too long. I have the impression he only managed to come out of it because the blocker started to wear off and he could sense you again. His first words were asking where you were.”

     Jim folded his arms across his chest defiantly. “So what? I’m his friend, Bones. Probably the closest one he’s got. He’s lost a hell of a lot already.”

     Bones snorted. “Closest, huh. The two of you are a pair of blind fools. He’s too close to you, Jim. He’s been that way since Khan. Losing you made him snap. You think he’s going to let you go now?”

     Jim’s eyes were suddenly cold. “If you really felt that way you’d have declared him unfit months ago. And if you knew him at all you’d know that he’d sacrifice anything for his friends and his shipmates.” The captain shook his head and stepped back himself. “I’m done with this conversation. I’ll see the healer, but I need some time to think about all this. And somehow get it all into a goddamn report.” He sighed and, looking up, fixed his eyes on Bones with firm authority. “Lay off Spock. That’s an order.”

     With McCoy’s reluctant nod, the captain spun on his heel and headed back to his quarters. They were set to dock at the starbase in less than eight hours and he had a lot to do, and to think about. Once in his cabin, he paused in front of the door to the shared bathroom that separated his space from his first officer’s quarters. He suddenly desperately wanted Spock’s company, if only just to reassure himself that the Vulcan was alive and sane. The memory of the pain was still too fresh. He remembered Bones saying that Spock’s heart had stopped when the psi-inhibitor was administered. If the bond was broken by the healer, was there a danger of that happening again? What if it came down to a choice between his career and his friend? Jim let out a humorless laugh. He had already been there, on Nibiru, and he knew what his answer was, and would be again.

 


	4. Meetings

Chapter Four: Meetings

 

 

     The _Enterprise_ pulled smoothly into dock at Starbase Twenty-three, the sense of brewing trouble heightened by the presence of two other heavy cruisers and one of the new destroyer-class battleships. Even after the ignominious end of Section Thirty-one, there was still a significant contingent of Starfleet brass who felt that shoring up Starfleet’s military muscle was of highest priority. Most of the new equipment commissioned in the past year had been combat craft manned by security and tactics specialists. These craft had been heavily involved in the recent skirmishes with the Klingons, and some degree of animosity had sprung up between the crews of the science and exploratory ships, such as _Enterprise_ , and these new class of vessels.

     Jim had circumvented McCoy and was on the bridge during docking, albeit still officially off-duty for medical reasons. He exchanged a significant look with Sulu, seated in the command chair, as they glimpsed the battleship, bristling with armament, in the next slip over. Jim had refused another dose of the psi-blocker in anticipation of his meeting with the healer, but the bond remained quiet in his head. He could only assume that Spock’s meditation had been sufficient to regain some of his shielding.

     Uhura flipped switches at her station and glanced over her shoulder at Jim. “Docking control reports all moorings engaged. And Commodore Keller wishes to speak to you, sir.”

     Jim threw a reassuring smile at Sulu, who was looking somewhat discomfited next to him in the captain’s chair. “On-screen, Lieutenant.”

     Rick Keller appeared on-screen. The starbase commander was a stocky man in his late fifties with graying hair and piercing green eyes. Jim had met him once before, briefly, and knew that he had been a friend of Christopher Pike’s.

     “Welcome to Starbase Twenty-three, Captain. I’m sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances. Admiral Hamilton is awaiting you and your officers for the scheduled debrief.” Keller seemed annoyed, and Jim could imagine why, with all the hardware floating in dock and one of the top brass roaming his halls.

     “Thank you, Commodore. We’re ready for the Admiral, except for one thing. As I mentioned in my report, I and First Officer Spock will be slightly delayed.” Jim had sent in his report a few hours before arrival, and had not been surprised to learn that Spock had managed to forward his as well. McCoy had arranged for the both of them to meet with the healer before the debrief. The specific cause was still under wraps, with only McCoy, Keller, and Admiral Hamilton aware of either the use of the mind-sifter or the bond between the command team.

     “Of course, Captain, I understand. You are cleared to beam over at your convenience.”

     Jim inclined his head. “Acknowledged, sir. Kirk out.”

     As the Commodore faded from the screen, Jim turned to Sulu and gave him a friendly slap on the back. “Right. Hikaru, we’ll meet you down there?”

     “Yes, sir,” Sulu responded. Jim cast a final look around the bridge, McCoy’s warning about losing his ship ringing in his head.

 

 

 

     By the time Jim reached the transporter room, Spock and McCoy were there waiting. Spock was standing stiffly. He still looked like shit, in Jim’s opinion. McCoy was pointedly ignoring the Vulcan, and turned to face Jim as he entered the room.

     “If you wouldn’t mind, Jim, I’d like to head down with you two.” Jim actually did mind. He knew that the tension between his first officer and his CMO was reaching a head, and he preferred that it wouldn’t happen in the middle of a meeting that may well determine his command fitness. But Jim couldn’t think of any way to refuse McCoy’s request without the doctor threatening to pull medical authority.

     So, the captain merely shook his head and motioned for everyone to take their places on the pads. “Okay, Bones, if you promise to stay out of trouble.” McCoy hopped up to the transporter pad with a satisfied expression, without even a peep about having his atoms scrambled. Spock merely gazed straight ahead, his face carefully impassive.

     A young officer snapped to attention as the _Enterprise_ party materialized. “Welcome to Starbase Twenty-three, Captain, my name is Lieutenant Ridley. Sirs, if will accompany me, I will escort you to Healer T’Vai’s office.

     “Thanks, Lieutenant, that’ll be fine,” Jim replied.

     Jim followed Ridley out into the hallway, Bones next to him and Spock two steps behind. They walked for about five minutes, Ridley keeping up a steady commentary about new construction projects and the increased defensive posture of the starbase. “And here we are, sirs,” he said as they arrived at a nondescript door within a section of the base surrounded by research facilities and labs.

     The captain nodded, “Thanks, Ridley. We’ll comm you when we’re done.” With a look at both his friends, he walked towards the door, which opened smoothly to what looked like a small anteroom. A human woman wearing civilian attire sat at a desk against the wall.

     “Captain Kirk?” she asked, looking up at them as they entered.

     “That’s me,” Jim replied, stepping forward.

     “I’m Leann Crosby, Healer T’Vai’s assistant. The healer is expecting you and Commander Spock.” The young woman then looked at the two men behind him with some confusion. “Your CMO’s message was quite nonspecific as to the reason for the consultation. Will all three of you be meeting with the healer?”

     “Yes,” McCoy began.

     “No,” Spock cut in sharply, “the captain and I will see Healer T’Vai. Dr. McCoy will wait here.”

     Bones bristled, but Jim reached out a placating hand. “C’mon, Bones, Vulcan privacy and all that. I’ll yell if I need you.” Jim offered the young woman his best charming smile. “I guess it’s just the two of us then.”

     Crosby smiled back. “Of course, sir. You may proceed through the door on the right. Dr. McCoy, please have a seat.” Jim gestured for Spock to precede him, and shrugged at Bones as he passed. The doctor’s previous smugness had given way to obvious resentment, but he remained silent.

 

 

 

     T’Vai’s office was large and brightly lit. She had most likely heard them arrive, with her Vulcan hearing, because she was standing in front of her desk, waiting, as they entered. She was a small woman, with dark hair and dark brown, almost black, eyes that had a strange flatness to them. Jim had always thought Spock difficult to read, but looking at the healer now he realized Spock’s eyes must be scandalously expressive for a Vulcan. He unconsciously stepped closer to his first officer.

     As soon as the door to the office shut behind them, T’Vai offered them the _ta’al._  “Live long and prosper, Captain Kirk, Commander Spock. Be seated.” Her hand lowered in order to gesture to four chairs arranged in a close circle to the right of the desk.

     Spock returned the _ta’al_ and Jim inclined his head and both moved to the chairs, taking seats next to each other. The healer moved after them and sat directly in front of Spock. “I would have your thoughts,” she said, with no preamble, and raised her hand. Jim supposed that normal doctor-patient back and forth was somewhat meaningless in a telepathic society. Spock did not hesitate to lean forward slightly, but as her fingers touched the half-Vulcan’s psi points, Jim flinched, almost overcome by a protective impulse to knock her hand away. The healer did not appear to notice the captain’s sudden tension, or the way his hands curled involuntarily into fists at his sides. Jim fought for control, and had only just forced himself to relax when the meld was broken. Both Spock and the healer leaned back. If Jim didn’t know better he would say that the healer was irritated. She turned her slightly narrowed eyes to him and raised her hand again.

     “Captain. May I touch your mind?”

     Even though Jim knew that this was what he had come here to do, he still hesitated. The memory of the helpless fear from the interrogation still whispered in his mind, as well as the bleeding agony that had been the result of Spock’s injuries and collapse of his shields. Spock turned his head to look at him. There was understanding in those dark eyes, a shared recollection of pain.

     “Perhaps it would be sufficient to further examine the bond from within my mind, Healer,” Spock offered.

     “Negative,” T’Vai answered immediately. “In order to properly ascertain the soundness of the connection, I must touch the captain’s thoughts. If you wish me to be able to report on your status to your superiors, as is logical, this is necessary.”

     Jim held out a hand in Spock’s direction, but didn’t dare touch him in front of the healer. “I’m alright, Spock. She’s right that we have to do this.”

     T’Vai’s lips pressed together as she reached for Jim’s face. Her mind touch felt cold, clinical and relentless, a far cry from the gentle warmth that he had felt when Spock had melded with him on board the damaged shuttle. Jim detected a wave of disapproval that she was unable to contain, a distaste for being within a human’s mind. She probed directly to the place of the former pain, which had since been dark and silent. Her mind stretched out, and Jim reflexively flinched mentally, recoiling from the unwelcome invader. She pushed back, and Jim couldn’t prevent a soft whimper, remembering the grip of the mind-sifter, terrifyingly helpless again. A sharp command was heard. “ _Kroykah_!” All of a sudden, the connection broke. Jim slumped back in his chair, tasting the harsh tang of blood in his mouth where he had bitten into his cheek. Spock was sitting forward, eyes blazing, and T’Vai practically glared at him, her irritation now obvious.

     Placing her hands in her lap, she looked imperiously at the captain, who was still struggling with the aftereffects of the meld. “You indeed share the bond of _t’hy’la_. I find this highly irregular. You are human and Spock is half-human. The designation of _t’hy’la_ was rare on the world that has been lost, and to now identify this relationship between...humans is most remarkable.” Contempt was clearly present in her voice as she continued, “The bond is essentially unbreakable, and, despite the manner of bonding, is quite strong already. Evidently your minds are highly compatible.”

     T’Vai then turned to Spock. “Although your physical wounds have healed, your shields remain barely adequate and your control is deficient. You will need to apply proper discipline to prevent continued ill effects.” She addressed the captain again, “Your bondmate’s shields are presently preventing you from sensing the bond. I would ask him to remove this barrier in order to ascertain the effect of the unshielded bond on your ability to function.”

     Jim finally found his voice. “What, right now?”

     Apparently his question was not nearly logical enough to warrant a response from the healer, as she remained silent, watching him with those flat eyes. He wondered if she could hear him if he thought hard enough. _The detestable human says fuck you!_ The way this was going, Jim was almost looking forward to the debrief.

     Spock put a hand on his arm, pulling his attention away from the healer. Jim felt the heat of his friend’s hand through his uniform sleeve, and, from the way T’Vai was staring at the contact, figured that perhaps this was the Vulcan equivalent of Jim’s own attempt at a telepathic obscenity. Amused and emboldened by the display of camaraderie, Jim nodded his approval and Spock removed his hand and let his eyes briefly fall closed. The sensation Jim experienced was almost like a door opening in his mind. At first he could only feel the absence of anything, then, slowly, he felt a familiar warmth appear. It was only barely perceptible, but there nonetheless. He opened his eyes, unaware that he’d closed them, to find Spock watching him intently. Jim found he could sense impressions, like colors shifting, within the bond. He suddenly had a growing awareness that Spock was very upset, completely exhausted, and still in pain, and Jim’s forehead furrowed in concern, tension returning as the unpleasant sensations washed into his mind.

     T’Vai observed this exchange from as far back into her seat as she could retreat. “May I examine the unshielded bond?”

     Jim reluctantly nodded, involuntarily drawing on Spock’s presence in his mind for support. Her touch this time was cursory, and over almost before it had begun.

     “Your bond is sound. I see no reason for you not to continue in your current positions, and will thusly inform your superiors.” T’Vai rose from her chair and offered the _ta’al_ again, signaling the meeting was over. Jim nearly tripped over himself getting to the door, anxious to be away, his head pounding. Spock raised his hand in the ritual gesture and departed immediately behind his captain. They both re-entered the anteroom, where McCoy was sitting on Crosby’s desk, chatting with the young woman. The doctor’s sharp hazel eyes fixed on Jim immediately, and he raised his eyebrows in a question.

     Jim chose to ignore it. “Let’s go, Bones,” he said sharply, flipping open his communicator to message Ridley.

     “How’d it go, Jim?” the doctor persisted, standing up and narrowing his eyes. “Were you able to... ?”

     “Later.” Jim’s reply was terse; he knew that McCoy couldn’t expect a complete discussion in front of T’Vai’s assistant, and with Ridley on his way down to escort them to the debrief. Besides, the unpleasant feelings in his head were merging into a crushing pain, and he felt a growing sense of nausea and dizziness due to an almost double vision in perceptions. Bones cast a dark look in Spock’s direction and muttered something under his breath about Vulcan voodoo. Crosby stifled a giggle, but turned quickly away to face her computer screen as Spock’s intense gaze focused on her.

     Ridley appeared quickly and led them out into the hallway, back towards the transporter room. “I’ve contacted your ship, Captain, and the rest of your team will be beaming down momentarily. I can show you to the conference room and let you get settled. Can I get you anything to eat or drink, sirs?”

     Jim declined, the thought of food turning his stomach. Spock, unsurprisingly did as well, and McCoy, still pouting, ignored the question. The trip back down the hallway to the conference room was silent, Ridley evidently sensing the heavy mood of the other officers and holding his tongue. When they reached their destination, Ridley stood back to let them enter. Jim paused in the entryway, taking in the empty room, and jerked his chin at the doctor. “Give us a minute, Bones.” His tone left no room for discussion, and the doctor frowned, but stepped back. The doors shut, leaving Spock and Jim alone.

     The captain took a breath and faced his first officer. He desperately wanted to talk to Spock about the meeting with the healer and what it had all meant, but he knew that had very limited time. Also, Jim was rapidly feeling close to collapse. The headache, nausea, and vertigo were becoming overwhelming, the disconcerting sensations of another’s pain and exhaustion filling his mind. Beneath it all was his own sense of panic. He flashed back to the cell on the interceptor, when he realized he was helpless to defend himself. He had had no control, could not fight, could not even fully comprehend the experience.

     “Spock, would you mind shielding again?” Jim blurted. He felt a sense of confusion and dismay through the connection, but the Vulcan simply replied quietly in the affirmative and stilled, focusing, for a moment. Jim felt the “door” close in his mind, and shivered involuntarily as his friend’s mental presence faded, leaving his mind strangely empty. He could no longer sense Spock’s pain and tiredness, though, or the constantly shifting muted colors of his mind, and Jim felt somewhat guiltily comforted by his brain feeling like his own. As if a switch had been flipped, Jim’s headache retreated, and he felt secure on his own two feet again. The captain couldn’t help a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing.

     Spock regarded him closely, with something like uneasiness flashing through his eyes, and Jim felt an odd compulsion to speak, if only to break the uncomfortable silence. “That healer was something else, huh.”

     “Indeed. Her opinions on certain subjects were quite transparent.”

     Jim took a step towards the Vulcan, concern in his voice. “Are you okay? Through the bond I felt that you were still hurting... .” He trailed off as Spock straightened abruptly and his face closed off.

     “As the healer pointed out, my shields are still weak. The mind-sifter apparently left me with some lingering effects. Meditation and rest should resolve the problem.”

     “Right,” Jim replied quickly, knowing how much Spock hated admitting weakness of any kind. He looked down at the table and shifted his feet before meeting Spock’s eyes again. “So, you’re okay, then? With the bond being permanent, I mean. We’re okay?” Jim didn’t want to ask what impressions of his own mind Spock had received when the bond had been unshielded.

     Spock tilted his head, as if he did not understand. “We are _t’hy’la_.”

     “That’s another thing!” Jim exclaimed. “Eventually you’re going to have to tell me what that means, you know.”

     Spock took a breath as if to elaborate, but at that moment the door buzzed, and both officers stood at attention as Admiral Hamilton entered, followed by Commodore Keller and a yeoman. Sulu entered a moment later, with McCoy, Scotty and Lieutenant Commander Toomey, the security chief who had been heading up the investigation aboard ship in tow. Hamilton, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early forties, eyed Jim speculatively. Hamilton had risen through the early ranks in security, and had switched to command-track as the first officer of a science vessel. He had been promoted to captain as a result of Nero’s decimation of the fleet, and then, following the Vengeance incident, had risen to be the youngest Admiral in Starfleet, largely as a result of his security expertise. Jim had met him twice before, and then only briefly. The man had seemed strangely defensive around him, and Jim had no idea why. As the debrief was called to order, Jim settled in his chair and forced his mind to the task at hand.

 

 

 

     Four-and-a-half hours later, Jim stood alone in the conference room. The debrief had begun with standard reports from McCoy, Sulu, Scotty, and Toomey regarding the rescue effort, the forensic analysis of the remains of the interceptor and the damaged shuttle, and the security investigation of the crew and any other possible sabotage aboard the _Enterprise_. Sulu then reported on the intelligence Spock had retrieved from the interceptor’s computer banks. With a severe warning about dissemination of classified material, Hamilton then told them about the reason the command teams had been summoned to Outpost J in the first place.

     Over the past year, there had been reports from the outlying systems in this quadrant that suspected enemy agents had been undermining the Federation’s presence there. Terms of treaties were suspiciously violated, ongoing diplomatic talks interrupted under questionable circumstances, and humanitarian supply transports destroyed or diverted. Each act appeared calculated and suggested inside knowledge, but the perpetrators were unclear. The Federation Council had eventually requested that Starfleet investigate, but when three patrol ships, including an interceptor, disappeared without a trace, Command had ordered an immediate organized response. Operating under secrecy due to possible infiltration, Hamilton had called together Starfleet leadership in the area to a secure location. The fact that the _Copernicus_ was attacked suggested that the infiltration was more significant than originally suspected. And the intelligence gleaned from the enemy ship served to confirm it. Command was figuring that the Klingons, having suffered the near total loss of their fleet by Nero, were waging a war by proxy with the Federation. However, no one knew how the Klingons would be able to counter and predict Fleet movements so effectively, or pull off planetary coups and chaos so easily through third parties, or why the acts of aggression seemed restricted to this particular region of space, and Hamilton wanted answers.

     With the main part of the briefing finished, Hamilton had requested that the doctor, Sulu, Scotty, and Toomey return to the _Enterprise_ and ordered the departure of the yeoman. Jim had steeled himself, feeling like he was about to campaign for his professional life. Starfleet officially discouraged personal relationships between command team members, citing the possibility of emotional compromise. Jim figured that a Vulcan bond constituted a very personal relationship, however it had come about. Furthermore, no commanding officer had served with such a telepathic connection before. Jim was well aware that the brass may see it as a liability, as McCoy had warned. Worse, Jim was still feeling pretty much in the dark as to what the bond really meant. In this, he was sure he was not alone. Even with T’Vai’s submitted report, he knew from experience Vulcans’ steadfast reluctance to divulge details pertaining to their telepathy and cultural practices. Whether this vagueness would help or hinder his cause was still to be determined.

     Hamilton had been direct, starting off by asking both of them in detail about their experience with the mind-sifter. He had seemed to be looking for a way in which the device could be used to encourage long-term compliance without the devastating side effects. Jim, whose mind had been effectively shielded by Spock’s after the first terrible moments, had found himself listening to his friend’s testimony with a growing sick feeling in his stomach. Hearing his first officer’s overly clinical, detached description of the experience made Jim realize suddenly how badly Spock had been hurt, and, from the recent devastating experience unshielding the bond, Jim wondered how badly he was still hurting. Hamilton’s questioning then turned

more personal, asking why Jim and Spock had disobeyed the kill-order, and grilling the Vulcan as to his motivations for initiating a permanent mental bond with his captain in the first place. Spock had maintained his normal composure, explaining that he had no other option to avoid losing a valued member of Starfleet, and that the captain had been ready to follow the order had the bond not been possible.

     Hamilton had eagerly all but accused them of willful fraternization, throwing examples at them, including Nibiru, when one of them had acted in a way that suggested emotional compromise due to the other. At the end of it, Spock was sitting ramrod straight in his chair, staring straight ahead, lips tightened and shoulders drawn up, the pinched look of pain back on his face. Jim had then expected the worst, that he would have his command stripped from him, and was sitting equally stiffly, his hands folded so tightly in his lap that he was losing circulation in his fingers.

     However, the healer had confirmed their bond and supported their continued positions despite the potential lack of privacy between their two minds. They had then been told that, due to the unique status of Vulcan bonds, they could not be separated, a position negotiated by Vulcan upon the possibility of any of its people joining Starfleet. In the end, the admiral had informed Jim he would be allowed to keep his ship, but that his command would be under increased scrutiny, and that any sign of preferential treatment would be viewed harshly. Hamilton had made it clear that though they may not be able to be separated, they could be easily busted down to ensigns serving together at the back-end of space.

     Through the entire thing, Commodore Keller had kept silent, but was obviously tense. Several times he had moved as if to interject, but had then merely settled back in his chair, chewing on the end of his stylus. Hamilton had finally finished, handing Jim a packet containing his new command orders, which required the _Enterprise_ to leave dock within the next six hours. Jim had kept silent, despite feeling a flame of outrage at the relentless turnaround. None of the security issues had really been dealt with, the crew was denied any downtime, and he and his first officer were mere hours out of sickbay and still not officially cleared for duty.

     Hamilton had departed the room with Keller following reluctantly several steps behind, still looking visibly agitated. Jim had turned to Spock, but the Vulcan had avoided his eyes, requesting leave to return immediately to the ship and practically swaying on his feet. Jim had assented, and Spock had turned on his heel and walked away. He had looked as defeated as Jim had ever seen him, a lost, desperate look in his eyes. The captain had ached to reach out to him.

     Now, Jim couldn’t help slumping back down into his chair and running his hands across his face, suddenly overcome with a wave of mental and physical exhaustion. He mentally poked at the place where the bond resided, and which was still shielded. When Hamilton had berated them about the potential for emotional compromise, Jim could only partially believe he was full of shit. Jim knew deep down he was emotionally compromised when it came to Spock, and he believed the reverse was true as well. He didn’t believe, however, that that would mean that either of them would act in a way that would endanger their shipmates.

     His relationship with Spock was complex. At their best, especially since Khan, they held a fierce loyalty for one another, a strong rapport, and a deep friendship, even love. At their worst, such as after the fall of Vulcan, acts of violence and provocation occurred which only made evident the intensity that ran between them. Now, they were bound together by a new, unknown quantity. Jim knew full well that his mother’s long-term distance combined with the terror of Tarsus contributed to a deep-seated fear of losing those closest to him and his primal avoidance of situations in which he had no control. The existence of the bond now brought both of those issues harshly to the surface.

     Having the mental connection to Spock gave him no place to hide, no place to regroup, no way to cheat or charm his way through. No way out. And what if Spock found out that Jim secretly wanted him in a way that went beyond friendship? Despite his attraction, Jim didn’t even know himself how he would deal with that situation. The captain felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. What if their friendship had changed irrevocably? He shook his head and let out a humorless laugh to the empty room. It served him right, he guessed, having easily taken so many meaningless conquests, to then be offered a true connection to a kindred soul and to find it impossible.

 

 


	5. Confrontation

Chapter Five: Confrontation

 

 

     Jim’s first stop upon beaming back to the ship was to visit sickbay. Bones still had to officially certify him fit for command and to restore him to the duty roster before they could go anywhere. As he walked in, it was apparent the doctor had been waiting for him. The door to McCoy’s office was open, and the doctor had been standing just inside.

     “Get in here, Jim!” he yelled gruffly, catching sight of the captain just as he entered the main part of the ward.

     Jim straightened his shoulders and headed over. As he entered the office, Bones keyed the door shut and stepped back, looking him over intently.

     “Shouldn’t you use a tricorder for the exam, Bones?” Jim asked, forcing a smirk.

     “Shut up,” Bones snapped. “That meeting took fucking long enough. I take your cagey attitude means that you haven’t managed to get rid of that mental leash yet?”

     “No, actually, I’ve decided it’s an awesome new fetish of mine. Hamilton was just pissed off because he was so jealous.”

     “Right.” Bones frowned and folded his arms. “Seriously. What about the ship?”

     Jim sighed and slouched back into one of the chairs opposite the doctor’s desk. “He says we’re going to stay where we are for now, unless I start making out with Spock on the bridge or something. Or pull him out of a volcano again. Or basically do anything beyond nodding my head at him during a shift change. I swear, Bones, the whole thing is weird. Hamilton seemed almost gleeful about threatening me over the bond. And he went off on Spock, and barely even acknowledged that we’d actually brought back some decent intel or were even injured, much less hooked up to a mind-sifter and almost killed. We’ve got a rapid turnaround right back out again, and Keller spent the whole briefing looking like he was either going to throw up or rip someone’s head off.”

     As Bones pursed his lips thoughtfully, Jim leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. He lowered his voice slightly. “The bond’s permanent, Bones.” The doctor’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, but Jim continued, pitching his voice to be deliberately light, “Anyway, you shouldn’t worry so much. Spock’s able to shield so that I barely feel anything and he can’t read my thoughts. The healer said we should be good. She was a real peach, by the way.” He finally looked at the doctor, his expression suddenly more serious. “So, you going to let me back in the chair or what?”

     McCoy took a breath and stepped back to lean his hip against the desk. “Yeah, I suppose. You’re physically okay, if a little tired from this latest dog and pony show. I’m still not happy about you being permanently wired to the hobgoblin, though. Your brain scans when you first got back aboard were like nothing I’ve ever seen. You had new synapses and activity in regions associated with latent telepathy. Actual physical and biochemical changes. There’s hardly anything in the med banks about this, and I’m guessing next to nothing anywhere about the effect it may have on a human.”

     Jim shrugged. “Nothing to do about it now, I guess. I’ll try to get more information out of Spock. We haven’t had a chance to say much of anything to each other since this whole crapshoot began. I was going to find him after I checked in here and made it to the bridge. Has he been in here, yet?”

     “Nope. I was expecting him to come in with you.” McCoy’s eyes shifted towards the comm unit on the desk. “Sneaky bastard. I should drag his ass in here right now.”

     Jim felt a headache coming on. Again. “Never mind, Bones. I’ll send him over when I see him.” He stood up and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Be nice to Spock. Looks like we’re a package deal now.”

     McCoy grunted, and as Jim walked briskly out of the office, he barely heard the doctor mutter, “Big surprise.”

 

 

 

     Chekov was in charge on the bridge when Jim showed up. The captain only stayed a few minutes to get a status report and to call for a briefing for the senior staff in two hours to go over their new orders.

     By the time Jim reached Deck Five, his previous exhaustion had returned with a vengeance and his headache had bloomed afresh. He hesitated in front of Spock’s quarters before finally pressing the buzzer, allowing himself the brief fantasy of escaping to his own rooms for a nap and maybe a stiff drink. When the doors slid open, Jim squared his shoulders and stepped in. Usually he felt uncomfortable in the dim lighting and higher temperatures of the Vulcan’s cabin, but today it felt strangely soothing. Spock had been seated in front of his computer, but stood upon his captain’s entrance. The defeated look was gone from his eyes, but Jim thought he still looked vulnerable.

     Spock spoke first, “Captain. I would like to apologize for my abrupt departure earlier.” He held his arms at his sides, and Jim’s eyes were drawn to his hands, which had an almost imperceptible tremor.

     “It’s alright,” Jim said, forcing his gaze back up to meet the Vulcan’s brown eyes and smiling. “You know you still need to check in with McCoy, though, unless you’re planning on leaving me without a first officer.”

     “Of course, Captain. I was planning on visiting sickbay before the staff meeting.”

     Jim nodded absently and glanced around the spartan quarters. “You mind if I sit down? I think we’ve got to talk.”

     Spock gestured politely to the single chair in front of his desk, but Jim ignored him, moving instead to the small couch in the front of the cabin against the wall. If he was going to have this conversation, he wasn’t going to do it from across a desk. As Jim settled into his usual sprawl, Spock raised an eyebrow and contemplated the limited amount of room remaining on the couch before simply turning the aforementioned chair around to face the captain and sitting down in one fluid movement.

     For a moment they regarded each other and then Jim sighed. “Okay, I’m just going to be direct here. For the time being, I’d like to you to keep the bond shielded. I’m still not used to it, McCoy still would like to run some tests, and we’re headed right back out into the shit again. Hamilton seemed to make it pretty clear that we’ve got to play it safe for a while to keep Command from breathing down our necks.” He paused for a breath, aware that his speech had come out sounding rushed and almost desperate.

     Spock’s expression did not alter, but something hardened in his eyes. “I understand, Captain, and will abide by your decision.”

     Jim leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him with his elbows on his knees. “Don’t you want to discuss it? I mean, I really don’t know anything about this other than we’ve got a shortcut between our brains. I mean, shorter than it was already, I guess. You didn’t mention the previous link in your report.”

     “No, I did not.”

     Jim huffed, slightly annoyed that he was going to have to drag any sort of reasonable answer out of his friend. “And that’s another thing, Spock. Why hadn’t you told me about the previous link? The one you felt when I died? You said in the shuttle that I wouldn’t have accepted it. Why not? And what in blazes does _t’hy’la_ mean anyway? T’Vai seemed to get pretty bent out of shape when it came up.”

     Jim’s questions came to a halt as Spock abruptly stood and, clasping his hands behind his back, turned around, bowing his head slightly. His voice was quiet, but there was strong emotion in it. “Captain. Jim. _T’hy’la_ is a word that has a rich history in the world-that-was. It meant...it _means_ friend, and brother-by-choice. But, when used to describe a bonding, it is more significant. It implies a fundamental connection between _katra_ , or what humans would more colloquially term a soul. Our minds naturally reach for each other, and would continue to do so, even if the link was dissolved. I did not believe you would accept such a binding connection.”

     Jim stared at the almost painfully straight line of Spock’s back and tried to absorb what he had just heard. “Spock,” he began slowly, “are you saying we’re soulmates or something? Because that sounds, uh, well, kind of illogical.”

     “Perhaps. But I cannot deny that, despite your continued predilection for inciting emotional responses from me, I am...drawn to you.” The Vulcan’s voice was barely audible.

 _And I to you,_ Jim’s thoughts whispered as he got to his feet and walked around so that he was facing Spock again. But, he remembered Hamilton’s warning and he felt the pressures of his own inner demons. Spock was right about the captain’s almost chronic avoidance of binding relationships, and would no doubt find Jim’s physical attraction towards him incomprehensible. So Jim pushed down his overwhelming urge to reach out, to touch, to acknowledge the depth of what Spock had described. It was ironic that Spock’s description of their bond, while surely meant to foster transparency between them, instead made Jim want to keep the shield even more, if only to avoid facing the truth.

     “Spock, I don’t know what to say. All we’ve been through...well, look, I need some time to sort things out. I need my own mind; to feel like me again. Do you think you could give me that?” He didn’t mention the pain, didn’t want to feel like more of a coward.

     There was a long pause before Spock finally raised his head. His face was carefully impassive, but tension played around his eyes and his shoulders were drawn in and slumped, as if he were curling in to himself. “Yes, Jim. The bond cannot be broken, but I will attempt to maintain and improve the shielding around it.”

     Jim suddenly felt the need to retreat. He hated himself somehow, hated his blatant avoidance of acknowledging Spock’s unexpected words, hated his own weakness, his fear. He flashed a quick, empty smile and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Great! Well, I should let you get down to sickbay. McCoy’ll be looking for you.”

     “Yes, Captain, I shall proceed there immediately.”

     Jim made for the exit as quickly as he could without appearing to run. As he left, he could feel the Vulcan’s eyes on his back. And as he entered the hallway he felt the “door” in his mind seal and fade away, blanketed with a heavy, dark silence as if it had never been there in the first place.

 


	6. Voyage

Chapter Six: Voyage

_He was standing on the lakeshore again, and ice covered the water, so thick it was almost blue. The air was cold, and he could see his breath condensing in billowing clouds. He was cold. Alone. And then he saw movement beneath the ice. The figure was obscured, dark. He reached out a hand, and, like a mirror, the figure in the water did the same. As their hands neared, the blue ice cracked and groaned. Frightened by the loud noise, he pulled back again, and the cracks healed, the ice even stronger then before. He heard a muffled cry, and the shadowy figure disappeared into the depths. He was alone again._

 

 

     The alarm blared suddenly, bringing Jim sharply back to consciousness. Blinking, he sat up and swung his legs out of bed.

     “Computer, raise temperature five degrees,” he mumbled, his voice rough and scratchy from sleep. He was cold again. Ever since the mind-sifter incident, he felt a constant chill in the air. But, fuck if he was going to tell Bones about it. The doctor had had him in sickbay for daily physical exams, including brain scans, since they had left Starbase Twenty-three a week ago. Jim felt like his neck had permanent hypo whiplash.

     They were scheduled to arrive at Ale’urel at 1100 hours. The planet was at the far end of Beta quadrant, in the sector that had experienced most of the acts of disruption attributed to their still mostly unknown enemies. The _Enterprise_ was sent to oversee the installation of a new governing council and to ferry the new Ale’urelian ambassador to the Federation Council back to Earth. The planet was of high strategic importance, having large natural reserves of dilithium. The arrival of Starfleet’s flagship would hopefully serve to impress the governing council and also deter any security problems.

     Rubbing his hands over his eyes and through his hair, Jim stood and walked into the bathroom. As he entered, he eyed the opposite door leading to Spock’s quarters. Since they had spoken of the bond after Jim beamed back from the starbase, Spock had subtly distanced himself from the captain. His overall demeanor hadn’t changed, but he was less available, retreating to his quarters for meals and spending more time below decks in the labs. Jim himself felt like he had more or less asked for it, and hadn’t reached out as he normally would. His single half-hearted offer of a game of chess two days ago was politely declined. Despite the strange dreams that occasionally interrupted his sleep and the feeling of a pervasive chill in the air, Jim’s energy was high and, except where Spock was concerned, his spirits up. The bond was silent in Jim’s head, and he could almost forget it; Spock’s shielding now effective enough that even the previous small awareness of the Vulcan that Jim had hardly known was there had disappeared. The headaches had even stopped. Bones had pointedly remarked several times about the lack of any lingering side effects of the mind-sifter or his captivity and was watching him like a hawk. Feeling hunted by one friend and well aware he was probably acting like an asshole to the other, Jim was instead spending his off-time hanging out with Scotty, or in the gym.

     Jim finished up his shower and had put on his uniform when his door buzzed. “Come,” he called, hopping on one foot as he tugged on his second boot.

     Uhura stepped in and smiled as she watched him try to maintain his balance. “Good morning, Jim,” she said pleasantly.

     Finally straightening up, Jim returned her smile. “Hi, Uhura. What’s up?” Her use of his given name meant that she wasn’t there on ship’s business. One of the perks of being temporarily dead was that she now allowed him to call her Nyota, however, Jim usually refrained from doing so; his hidden attraction to her ex-boyfriend making him feel guilty.

     She gave him a once-over. “I wanted to check up on you. You look good.”

     “Always,” Jim smirked, and she rolled her eyes. He continued, “Have a seat. Coffee?”

     “No, thanks,” she replied, and took a seat on Jim’s couch, crossing her long legs and placing her hands carefully on her lap, watching him. Jim crossed over and sat down next to her.

     After a pause, she lowered her eyes and picked at a nail, casually asking, “Have you talked to Spock in the last few days? Outside of duty?”

     Jim hesitated, careful to keep his expression neutral. “Actually, not really. He’s been spending a lot of time in the labs.”

     Uhura glanced up at him, her gaze suddenly intense. “Yeah. You know anything about that?”

     The captain stifled a gulp and furrowed his brow, already regretting allowing her in. “Uhura, a lot happened. He probably just needs space.”

     She shook her head once, her long ponytail swinging across her shoulders. “Nope, wrong answer. I know a lot happened, and I realize that you probably can’t or won’t tell me exactly what. I don’t need to know that. What I need to know is that you’re there for him.” Her lips tightened. “I know him better than most, and maybe not as well as you, but enough to see there’s something wrong with him.”

     When Jim didn’t respond immediately, she rose abruptly to her feet and started to pace back and forth. “I need to know that you’ll...take care of him, Jim. He won’t allow me to do it.” She let out a delicate snort, facing the wall. “He never has.”

     Jim swallowed and replied gently, “He’s my friend, Nyota. Of course I’ll watch out for him.”

     She turned to face him again, her face composed, but her eyes full of emotion. “He seems unbreakable, but he’s not. Of all people, Jim, you should know that.”

     Jim stood as well, holding his hands out to her in question. “I don’t understand, why me of all people?”

     An angry look crossed her face and she opened her mouth to respond, but then peered at him closely, searching his face. Her expression softened. “You don’t understand. You don’t know, do you?”

     “Know what?” Jim was getting frustrated. He was fairly certain she did not know about the bond. Hamilton had made it clear that for security reasons, that information was to be kept on a need-to-know basis.

     Uhura tilted her head and pressed her lips together. She looked sad. “Just...be there for him. He’s more human than he likes to admit.”

     Jim nodded solemnly. “I’ll do that, I promise.” He offered a small smile, and was relieved to see it returned.

     “Okay, Jim.” Her eyes searched his face once more and she suddenly stepped forward and gave him a fierce hug. “I’m glad we got you back. Both of you.” Before Jim could think to respond, she had let him go and disappeared through the cabin door, leaving the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air.

 

 

 

     The sky over Ale’urel was the palest pink, the air smelled fresh, and the sun was warm on Jim’s skin as the last traces of the transporter beam faded around him. He and the landing party had beamed into the wide courtyard in front of the main governmental building in the planet’s capital city. Around them, exotic architecture in the city’s characteristic white stone sprawled and stretched, manicured lawns and ornate flower arrangements adding a sprinkling of color. In front of them, three Ale’urelians stood, ready to greet them.

     The tallest of the beings glided forward, her skin as pale as alabaster and her black hair ornately done up in a complicated design. The characteristic large silver eyes glittered. Ale’urelians were humanoid, but lacked obvious noses, ears, or external eyelids. Two small holes in her forehead served as nostrils, and delicate indentations along her temples acted as tympanic membranes, picking up sound vibrations. Every now and then, internal eyelids would flash across her eyes, but they did not detract from the overall beauty of the enormous silver pools of her irises.

     “I am Taur’a’elen, the Ambassador’s chief aide. I welcome you, Captain Kirk, and your crew, to our planet. You honor us by your presence and your service.”

     Jim made a slight bow. “Thank you, ma’am. On behalf of my crew, and he Federation, we are honored to be here, and to be of service.”

     To his side, he sensed rather than saw Uhura’s approving nod. He knew he had come a long way in the past thirteen months, and he knew a great deal of it was due to Uhura’s coaching in translation and cultural communication. Jim proceeded to introduce his party: Uhura, a yeoman, two security guards, and Lieutenant Gold, the liaison officer from Starfleet’s Department of Treaties and Intercultural Affairs. He had left Spock in command, with orders to oversee continuous scans of nearby space and the planet surface for any hints of potential trouble. Their trip from the starbase had been uneventful, no other incidents had yet been reported, and Jim wanted to keep it that way.

     Taur’a’elen graciously led them into the building, providing a quick yet detailed tour on the way to the main hall, where the turnover ceremony was about to begin. She walked next to Jim, occasionally touching him on the arm or brushing his hand. Once in the hall, she seated herself next to the captain, and during the long ceremony, whispered under her breath to him, pointing out people and remarking on the proceedings. Jim felt relaxed in her presence, and by the end of the ceremony, was actually looking forward to the reception in order to continue in her company.

     Ale’urel was known for its parties, and the reception was no exception. Around an enormous hall, decorated to mimic one of the planet’s many rain forests, were acrobats, musicians, and entertainers of every kind. Food and drink were plentiful, and towering ice sculptures dominated the hall. The party from the _Enterprise_ dispersed to enjoy themselves, except for the guards, who shadowed Jim from a discrete distance. After checking in with the ship, Jim wandered over to a decorative waterfall, mesmerized by the flashing water and brilliant white stone. He thought back to Uhura’s visit that morning. When he had made his way to the bridge, Spock had already been there, and had promptly risen from the command chair with a nod, returning to his station without a word. Jim had taken a good look at his first officer for the first time since their conversation in Spock’s quarters, and suddenly realized why Uhura must have felt compelled to visit him. Spock’s face was still pale, his posture slumped, new lines of tension around his eyes and mouth, and it seemed like he had lost weight. Jim had come up with a question to ask the Vulcan, and wandered over to his station. Spock had answered promptly in his usual efficient monotone, his eyes betraying nothing, but, as he had turned back to his instruments, Jim noticed the tremor in his hands remained. He had briefly met Nyota’s eyes over Spock’s head, and she raised her brows slightly, as if to say, _See?_ The empty feeling in Jim’s mind was strangely distressing, and he had returned to the command chair with a frown.

     Now, Jim realized he was frowning again, and quickly replaced it with a more pleasant expression. Now was not the time to be caught not enjoying himself; it was a sign of disrespect on Ale’urel to not actively take pleasure in a party.

     “Captain?” purred a voice from behind him. He turned to see Taur’a’elen standing with a shorter, older male. “I would like to introduce His Honor, Ambassador Uri’e’al, newly appointed by our government to the illustrious Federation Council.”

     “Ambassador. I am pleased to meet you and am honored to be escorting you to Earth. I look forward to giving you a tour of my ship when you come on board tomorrow.”

     “Thank you, Captain. The honor is mine.” The Ambassador’s sibilant accent was somewhat stronger than Taur’a’elen’s, and his skin had a pale golden cast to it, representative of the more northern territories of the large single continent. Jim spent several more minutes exchanging pleasantries with the ambassador before the dignitary politely excused himself. The captain had been aware of Taur’a’elen’s seductive gaze on him throughout the conversation, and finally turned to her, unconsciously shifting his weight to one side and smiling. She smiled back. Her hair was loose down her back now and her slender body, clad in a minimal, but elegant, white shift, was decorated with silver paint which glimmered in the lights and matched her eyes.

     “I am quite pleased to meet you, Captain, and, as I will be accompanying His Honor to Earth, also look forward to a tour of your...ship,” she murmured smoothly.

     “Please, call me Jim,” the captain replied. He continued to talk with the beautiful Ale’urelian off and on through the rest of the reception before finally returning to the ship for the night. As he stepped off the transporter pad with the rest of the party and headed to his quarters, intent on a hot shower, he failed to notice Nyota’s dismayed expression following him out the door.

 

 

 

     The following day was full of pomp and circumstance. Ambassador Uri’e’al and his party, Taur’a’elen among them, arrived via shuttlecraft to a full honor guard and ceremonial welcome. Jim stood by, with Spock at his side, both in full dress uniform, and personally escorted the Ambassador to his rooms on board, with an invitation for a full tour followed by dinner later that day. As Jim left the suite, Spock a step behind him, he checked in with the two security guards posted outside the doors. The possibility of a saboteur onboard had never been entirely ruled out, even after exhaustive checks and the seemingly perpetual state of security alert. Satisfied all was well, Jim headed down the hallway, meaning to stop in his quarters, change, and relax a bit before his presence was required again. Spock followed, perhaps having the same thought, and, without the hubbub of the visitors surrounding them, Jim was even more aware of the new absence of that sixth sense he had enjoyed when it came to his friend. He felt cut off, and alone, and when he turned his head to regard the Vulcan, was met with a level, dispassionate look in the dark eyes. The special warmth he had always seen there was gone. Jim remembered Bones’ constant scoffing about Jim’s insistence that Spock had a sense of humor, and now was suddenly struck by the notion that perhaps he, Jim, had been the only one to see it, allowed extra insight into the Vulcan’s inner self by the presence of the mental link they had shared and which was now effectively blocked.

     By the time they reached Jim’s cabin, he was feeling childishly irritated, and he took his leave of his first officer with a sharp nod, avoiding meeting his eyes, letting the doors to his quarters close even as Spock still stood in the hallway. Jim pulled at his dress tunic, unfastening it and letting it hang open as he sprawled into his desk chair, closing his eyes and letting out a loud sigh. He resignedly asked the computer to increase the ambient temperature in his cabin. He knew he had asked for it, insisted on it, this shielding of their link. He had refused to acknowledge what Spock had told him about soul-bonding, and had basically confirmed the Vulcan’s original assumption that Jim would never accept such a relationship.

     Jim hung his head slightly, remembering his promise to Nyota. Well, maybe, in keeping Spock at arm’s length, Jim was taking care of him. Jim’s inner demons wouldn’t be able to hurt him. Jim’s selfishness and often capricious behavior would be unable to touch him. Also, he would be protected from a bondmate who would be unable to avoid thinking about getting in his pants every spare second. Jim let out a groan. Over the past week, with his increased sense of vigor, he had felt an increase in his sexual energy as well. Now, his sense of frustration was peaking with the sudden lack of any physical or mental contact with the object of his attraction. Gritting his teeth, Jim turned towards his computer screen, wanting to check through his messages and perhaps find something to take his mind off the damnable bond. As he flicked through status reports and requests for signatures, he came upon one of the more recent messages, sent just five minutes before. It was from Taur’a’elen, and it was an invitation to meet her for coffee in her quarters. _What a coincidence_ , Jim’s brain supplied sarcastically. His lower half was more enthusiastic. Jim took a breath, bit his lip, and replied.

 

 


	7. Implications

Chapter Seven: Implications

 

 

     The _Enterprise_ pulled out of Earth spacedock fifteen days later. The Ale’urelian delegation had been safely delivered, and they were off to their next mission, a routine planetary survey. Sigma Canopus Prime had been on their mission docket before the command team had been ordered to Outpost J, and there was a subtle sense of relief amongst the crew that things seemed to be getting back to normal. There had been a complete lull in incidents in Beta quadrant over the past three weeks, after the destruction of the interceptor and Spock’s hacking of the computer banks. Security within the Federation Council and within Starfleet remained at high levels, particularly with the suggestion in the intelligence Spock had gathered that spies may have made their way into circles of leadership. Orders were double-checked, personnel at every level were being vetted, and Admiral Hamilton had increased the number of armed patrols operating in the outermost sectors.

     Once clear of Luna, Jim gave the command to warp, and sat back in the command chair, hand on his chin, watching the colors of warpspace through the main viewscreen. Around him, his people did their jobs, the background murmur of electronic sounds and human voices balm to his thoughts. He heard Spock behind him, discussing with a crewmember a list of geological analyses that would be necessary once they were in orbit. Any new planetary survey was a pretty big deal to Sciences, and they would be busy over the next eight days of travel time to prepare for it. Eight more days. The last fifteen had been bad enough.

     Jim had gone to Taur’a’elen’s room that day, over two weeks ago. He was frustrated, horny, angry, and wanted to take his mind off of, well, his mind. He had laid on the charm, and she was more than willing to reciprocate. They had ended up on the floor, with her straddling his knees, unfastening his pants, when he had felt the strongest sense of _wrong_. It had startled him into a sitting position, and she had jerked back, surprised at the look of horror and confusion on his face. He had made his apologies and left awkwardly. Over the next few days, his frustration had only grown and he practically lived in the gym in his spare time, and had indulged in more than his usual personal attention in the shower. Spock had shown up to his quarters one evening, the first time he had initiated a personal visit since Jim had asked for the shield.

     Jim had been surprised to see his first officer step through his door, and had stood up from where he had been seated behind his desk, taking an involuntary step forward. “Spock!” he had said, “what’s up?”

     The intervening time had not seen an improvement in the too-pale skin and the circles under his eyes had darkened. Spock looked exhausted, and was now noticeably thinner. The Vulcan had stopped several paces into his room, but still a respectable distance away, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his brown eyes inscrutable. “Good evening, Captain. I merely wished to see if you were well.”

     “Um, as well as can be expected, I guess.” Jim really didn’t know what else to say. _I’m really frustrated and I’m cold all the time and I’m spending way too much time at the gym or with my right hand. And it’s all because I don’t want you in my mind anymore because I can’t feel that helpless pain again._ Yeah, not that.

     Spock had lowered his eyes briefly to the floor and then raised them again. “Captain, I-,” he began.

     “Jim,” the captain had interrupted.

     The Vulcan had raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly before beginning again, “Jim. You seem...distracted lately.” He shifted slightly on his feet and his gaze returned to the floor. “Are you well?”

     Jim had studied him. Spock was as close to uncomfortable as Jim had ever seen him and Jim suddenly had a horrible feeling. “Spock. Do you...can you feel when I... .”

     The slight greenish tinge to the pale cheekbones was all Jim needed in confirmation and he had erupted in a fit of embarrassment and anger. “I can’t believe this. You said the bond was shielded, you couldn’t read my thoughts. What the fuck, Spock?”

     The Vulcan had flinched back as if he had received a physical blow. “Jim, I apologize. Certain intense feelings are impossible to shield against, and my concentration has been weakened... .”

     “No. No. No. This is too much. You’re telling me my privacy is completely gone? And you couldn’t have said anything before now?” Jim had pointed to the door, his face flaming red and unable to look at his friend, sputtering, “Please, just go. I won’t be doing that...this...again.”

     Spock had hesitated, his mouth opening and closing again as if he were trying to find the correct words. “Jim, I am sorry. Perhaps, I...you could... .”

     “Please, Spock,” Jim had interrupted desperately, “just go.” And the Vulcan had left. They hadn’t spoken outside of duty since.

     For the rest of his shift, Jim threw himself into his work, whipping through signatures and reports as fast as his yeoman could bring them to him. She had been only too eager, Jim’s propensity for weaseling out of paperwork one of the banes of her job. It was only twenty minutes until beta shift came on duty when Uhura spoke up from her station, “Captain, I am receiving a message from Starfleet Command on a secure channel.”

     “Pipe it down here, Lieutenant,” Jim replied, furrowing his brow.

     “Go ahead, sir.”

     Jim hit the button on his chair and listened. “Captain Kirk, this is Admiral Rosamund Spencer. We have received word that Commodore Rick Keller was found murdered on Starbase Twenty-three several hours ago. Preliminary investigation points to a base research assistant as the culprit, but she is now reported missing, along with her supervisor. Given the enhanced security concerns and the fact that the starbase is within your patrol area, we wished to keep you informed. Details will follow. Spencer out.”

     The silence on the bridge was not unexpected. Jim was aware of all eyes on him, and he slowly stood. “Acknowledge that, Lieutenant, and send the remainder of the message to my computer.” He looked from one crewmember to another, even Spock, whose eyes were guarded. “Commodore Keller was one of our own. We grieve with his family and friends. I will keep you informed of any continuing developments.” He nodded briskly and saw small acknowledgements from each crewmember as confused and concerned eyes turned back to consoles and readouts. Jim glanced at his first officer, who was still watching him. “Take over, Spock, I’ll be in my quarters.”

     “Yes, Captain.”

 

 

 

     Jim walked purposefully to his quarters, his mind turning over and over. He remembered Keller’s strange, repressed reaction to the debrief, his obvious anger and his avoidance of Jim afterwards. He wanted to have a look at the details of the investigation; something wasn’t sitting right. He keyed in his code and stepped through into his cabin, and came face-to-face with McCoy.

     “Shit, Bones! You almost gave me a heart attack? What are you doing here?” he exclaimed.

     “Well, I knew you’d be off-shift soon and figured this was the best way to keep y’all from avoiding me. Again.” McCoy wore a slight smirk on his face, but his eyes were hard.

     Jim chuckled, and side-stepped his friend to walk around to his desk. “Whatever, Doc. You’ve got me in for a _complete_ physical every week still. I’d like to try to avoid you.”

     McCoy turned to face him, studying Jim’s face. “Have you talked to Spock lately?”

     “Geez. First Uhura and then you. I’m beginning to think he’s setting me up or something.” Jim leaned over and tapped at his keyboard, trying to look nonchalant.

     Bones wasn’t buying it. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Jim. Three weeks ago you were acting fucking head-over-heels about him, lecturing me about leaving him alone, completely on-board with this bond stuff. Then, all of a sudden you’re telling me about him shielding, and you two going on about your merry lives as if nothing’s happened, ‘a package deal’. Now, I haven’t seen you two talk outside of the bridge or the briefing room, and you get that stupid smart-ass look on your face whenever his name comes up.”

     “Maybe it’s none of your business, Bones.”

     McCoy snorted. “Bullshit again, flyboy. I’m CMO on this crate; everything’s my business. Especially whatever’s going on between the command team.” He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing the captain. “Now that we’ve got that cleared up, let’s get down to it. How are you feeling, Jim?”

     “Fine! I’m feeling fine! Why is everyone asking me that?” Jim stepped back from the desk, eyes wide, hands on his hips.

     “Wrong. You’re feeling great. Lots of energy, great appetite, sleeping well, right?”

     “Uh, sure, except for the occasional bad dream. But you can’t bust me for that.”

     McCoy’s face took on a predatory look. “Well, Jim, I don’t know why anyone else has been asking you how you’re doing, but _I’m_ asking because the guy on the other end of your bond isn’t doing so well.”

     Jim froze, and his face became serious. “What do you mean, Bones?”

     “C’mon, man! Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed! He’s tired, pale as a sheet, hands shaking. His efficiency rating is down, and he’s not been eating. I’ve been having to threaten him to get him to down a plate of fucking salad. Of course, being Vulcan, his rating is still ridiculously high compared to us mere humans, but something’s wrong. You go up, he comes down. Equal and opposite reactions. You can’t tell me there’s not a connection between that and this bond of yours. Now, he won’t talk to me. At all. So, I’m asking you, his _closest_ friend. Have you talked to him?”

     Jim’s shoulders slumped and he sank into his desk chair, rubbing his hand over his eyes. He mumbled something unintelligible.

     “What?” McCoy barked, leaning forward.

     “I yelled at him and threw him out of my quarters about a week out of Ale’urel. We haven’t really talked since. He, um, well, told me he could feel it when I, you know... .” Jim trailed off.

     Bones rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t know. What?”

     “Jerked off,” Jim muttered, his face reddening.

     McCoy stared at him for a minute and then started laughing.

     “It’s not funny, Bones! It was a stupid thing for me to do, but I just lost it. It was like any privacy I thought I had left was gone. I’ve been having enough trouble trying to deal with the bond in the first place.”

     The doctor grew serious. “What do you mean, Jim? I thought he was blocking it? I thought you were okay with the whole thing.”

     Jim leaned his head against the back of the chair. “Fuck. I can’t even have this conversation with him, and he’s supposed to be my soulmate or something.”

     Jim was expecting laughter or a sharp comment from the doctor, but instead Bones hesitated, then crossed over to a wall cabinet and pulled out a sifter of whiskey and two glasses. Pouring two good-sized portions, he set both cups down on the desk and pulled up the nearest chair, sitting back and waiting.

     Picking up the nearest glass and taking a large swallow, Jim rubbed his neck with his other hand and blinked a few times. “Okay, so I asked him to shield the bond. Yeah, there was all this crap from Hamilton, but the real reason was that I was afraid. You were right when you said we were too close. I...have feelings for him.”

     “Okay,” Bones said encouragingly, turning his glass in his hands.

     “It’s not just that. Well, I’m pretty sure he’d freak out if he knew. I’m not exactly his type and all. But, we’d just gotten through a lot of stuff: Vulcan, and the mess with Nero, and then Nibiru and Khan and then I died. It took all that to get us where we are now. Where we were. And on that shuttlecraft he called me something in Vulcan which I found out later amounts to soulmate and he told me that our minds were so compatible that we’d had a mind link already formed without either of us knowing about it.” Jim took another swallow and stood, pacing around his small office area. “At the time we were looking down the barrel and so I agreed to the bond. And it worked-we both got out alive. But, Bones, if you could have felt it, when they were using the mind-sifter. It was like I wasn’t there. He protected me, but I was helpless. And afterwards, when they were using it on him, I was still helpless. I could feel the pain coming for me and all I could do was lie there on the floor in a fucking ball. And I knew that if he folded, I’d go down with him, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. My mind was not my own and it was terrifying.”

     McCoy stayed silent, watching Jim pace. The captain continued, “And then the healer said it was permanent, that we were tied together for life. The whole thing brought up parts of me that I’d rather keep hidden. I mean, you know the surface details: Tarsus, Winona’s bullshit, Sam running off, Pike dying, the fact that I can’t keep a romantic interest beyond a date and a roll in the sack. Feeling out of control and allowing myself to be exposed pushes all the wrong buttons with me. Probably fundamentally why I cheated on that fucking _Kobayashi Maru_. I hate to be out of control; I hate for things to be out of my hands, to be given no options. And suddenly here I am, with him in my head. My friend, who would give his life for me, whom I probably fucking _love_ ,” Jim stopped in front of Bones, the last word practically a sob, “and I can’t stop lashing out at him. And he’s hurting. I know he’s hurting, but I can’t bring myself to open myself up to it again and I’m a fucking coward.”

     “Sit down, Jim,” Bones said firmly, holding Jim’s gaze. Jim hesitated, still breathing hard after his convoluted, impassioned speech, and then sank into his seat.

     Bones waited a long moment before beginning, “Look, kid, all of that I could probably have guessed; I’ve known you a while. I think it was good for you to get it out, though, and I don’t blame you for any of it. But, I want you to think about what you’ve just said. Your friend, who offered his life for you. Because he did, Jim. When we brought you both in, we almost lost him. And he’s still not great. Now, I don’t know if it’s actually the bond, or still unhealed damage from the mind-sifter that we haven’t caught, or what, but I’m pretty sure that he needs you, just as you need him. Pushing him away isn’t helping either of you. It’s not protecting him-he looks like shit. And I can tell it’s wearing on you, despite the boundless energy and jerking off like a superstar. I know it’s hard for you to let anyone get close, and I personally couldn’t imagine letting the hobgoblin into my head, but I really don’t think he would ever hurt you, or give up on you. Who knows if Vulcans can love, but I’d bet my Aunt Josie’s farm that whatever he feels for you is as close as he can get. Remember, I had to watch the green-blooded bastard mope around your hospital bed for two weeks straight. And for the record, you’re not a coward. You’re a normal human being dealing with torture and Vulcan voodoo that I doubt even Spock understands. Believe me, Vulcans are better at hiding information than damn Section Thirty-one. You should see what I had to go through to get a straight answer from his people about that fucking healing trance he was in.”

     Jim licked his lips and nodded absently, staring at his empty glass. Bones waited a few minutes before setting his cup down loudly on the table and standing. “Talk to him, Jim. Before this gets worse.” And the doctor turned and left.

     The captain raised his head and looked at the closed door, a shiver running down his spine. “Computer, raise temperature five degrees,” he commanded, and bit his lip, thinking about when Bones had said. Making up his mind, he opened his messaging program, intent on sending a request to meet with his first officer, when he saw something completely unexpected flashing at the top of his screen. It was a message from Commodore Keller.

 

 


	8. Revelations

Chapter Eight: Revelations

 

 

_He knelt on the ice this time, the lake shore far behind him, his hands pressed against the cold surface. Far below, the dark figure was curled up, unmoving. The ice was thick and relentlessly cold against his skin, and he felt helpless again. This time, because he did not know how to break it. It would not break. He felt doubt. Perhaps it was not meant to be broken. He scraped his hands on the ice, feeling it bite into his skin. He looked at his hands and they were torn, but there was no blood. He looked back to the ice and saw the blood there, but it was spreading out beneath the surface, and it was green._

 

 

     Jim awoke slowly this time, aware of a dull feeling of passing nausea in his stomach and a pervasive chill over his body, despite the ambient warmth and the pile of blankets over him. This dream was worse than the others. He remembered the slick slide of green blood dripping onto the floor in the life pod, the coppery smell, and the memory of fear. Shaking, he ordered the room temperature raised even higher, and sat up weakly, hugging the blankets around himself.

     The ship was still en route to their survey assignment, but Jim was awaiting word from the Admiralty regarding the message from Keller that had appeared in his inbox the previous evening. The message had been sent around the time of the Commodore’s murder, and had not been sent directly. Uhura had analyzed the pattern of transmission and determined that it had been bounced from receiving station to receiving station using a pattern of shifting frequencies. Keller had apparently not wanted anyone to know that Jim had been the recipient. It had been a simple vid file, the Commodore’s face appearing on-screen. He looked nervous, and kept glancing to the side, his words slurred and his eyes bloodshot.

     He had not addressed Jim by name. “If you are receiving this message, then I am probably dead. You are in danger. I can tell you nothing else except to trust no one, and to be on the lookout for a trap. You had not been a target before, but you are now. Now you represent what they wish to destroy.” Keller had blinked at the camera, and then abruptly cut off the message.

     Jim’s plan to talk to Spock about the bond had been derailed as he had called for an immediate meeting of the senior staff in the briefing room. As Uhura had analyzed the transmission pattern, Bones had brought in one of his psychologists to evaluate Keller’s apparent mental state and to attempt to ascertain if he was being truthful. Jim had introduced some of the details of the murder investigation. The prime suspect was Leann Crosby, T’Vai’s assistant, however, both Crosby and T’Vai were missing. Keller had been killed by having his neck broken, very precisely, in a manner consistent with _tal-shaya_. When Bones had wondered why Crosby would be blamed for a Vulcan method of execution, Spock had offered that T’Vai’s status as a healer would usually exempt her from such an investigation. Additionally, Jim pointed out the forensic evidence that linked Crosby’s fingerprints to the scene, and the circumstantial evidence that she and Keller had been engaged in an affair, which he had recently ended. Finally, there was the question of whether or not to forward the message to Command. Sulu had been hesitant, pointing out the potential extent of infiltration, that they would be setting themselves up, especially since Keller took such pains to avoid revealing the recipient of his message. After much discussion, Jim had decided to alert Starfleet, over Spock and Sulu’s objections. They were flying blind, and as the psychologist’s evaluation of Keller’s truthfulness was inconclusive; the message itself could be a deliberate misdirection. The meeting had adjourned well into ship’s night, and Jim had resolved to try to find Spock first thing in the morning.

     Now, Jim glanced at the chronometer and sighed. It was barely 0500. He tried lying back down and closing his eyes, but the disturbing sight of green was never far from his thoughts. Resigned, and with barely an appetite due to the lingering nausea, he stood up and quickly changed into his workout gear. There was one way to warm himself up without setting the temperature to ungodly levels, and that was to work up a sweat. Splashing some water on his face, he headed over to the gym.

     The rooms in the gym were almost deserted this time of day. Jim wandered into the back, toward the treadmills. To his surprise, as he approached, he heard the steady whirr of one of the machines, accompanied by rapid, thumping footfalls. Rounding the corner, his jaw dropped. There, on the furthest treadmill, was his first officer. He was wearing running shorts and shoes and his black regulation t-shirt, and the machine was set to some ridiculous speed. Jim stopped in his tracks. He had seen Spock in workout gear before, but never like this. He watched, mesmerized, as long legs and lean muscle pounded an inhuman rhythm, the Vulcan’s eyes were focused straight ahead, his lips slightly parted, and a touch of pale green to his cheekbones. His hair, still impossibly neat, was brushed off to one side and the barest hint of sweat glistened on his forehead.

 _Fuck me_ , thought Jim. But just as he was about to beat a hasty retreat, dark eyes shifted and pinned him where he stood. Without breaking his stride, Spock’s head tilted and he acknowledged, “Captain.”

     Jim smiled half-heartedly and walked over to the next machine over, setting up his program and beginning a slow jog for a warm-up. He was completely aware of his friend’s punishing pace, however, and the competitor in him couldn’t resist. Jim raised the intensity to near what he knew to be his own maximum. Though not the Vulcan’s pace, it was close enough, and Jim quickly lost himself in the burn of his muscles, the feeling of air filling his lungs, the satisfying stretch in his legs. He began to focus inward, letting the physical discomforts go. Spock ran for another hour, and Jim stopped his own machine as the Vulcan stepped off. Panting and covered in sweat, Jim gasped out, “Hey, wait up! I didn’t know you ran!”

     Spock was breathing more heavily than usual, and his face was shiny with sweat, but he barely looked winded. He dropped his eyes for a few seconds before looking back at Jim. “I have been finding it difficult to meditate. Intense physical activity assists me in my mental focus.”

     Jim stepped off his own machine, coming face-to-face with the Vulcan. “Yeah, me, too.” He winced as he remembered the reason he hadn’t really talked to his friend in so long. “Spock, I want to apologize for what I said to you back in my quarters. I was out of line. Way out. I hope you can forgive me.”

     Spock gazed at him, and as the extra color from his workout drained from his face, Jim was aware of the signs of fatigue and stress that remained. Finally, the Vulcan spoke, “Yes, Jim, you are forgiven. I also must apologize for not having spoken of the...emotional transference earlier. I find it difficult to discuss such topics, as I have no common frame of reference.”

     Jim’s eyes widened slightly as he digested that statement. “Um, no problem,” he managed. He remembered McCoy’s comment about Spock’s lack of appetite. His friend had lost weight, and the running wasn’t helping. He also saw an opportunity for them to talk. “Do you want to grab some breakfast with me?” Jim asked hopefully.

     Spock paused, and then took a deliberate step back. “I must decline, Jim. I have found that increased proximity makes it significantly more difficult to maintain the shielding over our bond.”

     “Oh.” Jim’s face fell. This confirmed one of his fears-that their friendship was irrevocably changed.

     “But,” the Vulcan continued, “perhaps we could run together tomorrow? Your presence in this manner does not seem to create additional difficulty.”

     “Yeah, of course!” Jim tried and failed to keep the bald enthusiasm out of his voice. “I’ll look forward to it. Same time?”

     “If you prefer.” They looked at each other for a long moment. Spock studied Jim and seemed to almost unconsciously lean forward before a shadow crossed his face and he stepped back again. “Captain,” he acknowledged, and, turning, headed to the exit.

 

 

 

     They met for the next three days at 0500 and ran for an hour in silence in the empty room. Each day Jim asked Spock to join him for breakfast and each day he was refused. The third time, after Spock had turned to leave, he hesitated and faced Jim again.

     “Jim. I must confess I do not understand why you persist in asking me to accompany you, when I have informed you of the reason I cannot. The reason has not changed. It is not logical to request me to shield our bond and then undermine the shielding.”

     Jim flushed, caught off-guard. “I miss you. I miss our friendship.”

     Spock looked at him, his eyes intense. “You have my friendship, Jim. You are my bondmate. All that I am, is yours. Please do not misconstrue my distance as indifference. I am only doing that which you asked of me.”

     Jim stared at him, his blue eyes stricken. He had pictured this conversation going differently, not in this suddenly heart-rending way. “Spock, I think...I think I’ve made a mistake.”

     Spock’s hand moved forward, as if to reach for him, but was pulled back an instant later. His voice was gentle. “Jim, this is not something that can be given and returned at will. Your reasons for asking me to shield the bond were valid to you at the time, and perhaps continue to be. That is for you to decide.”

     Jim swallowed and nodded unsteadily, watching as the Vulcan turned again and left the room. The captain stood by himself for several long minutes until the sound of approaching voices galvanized him. He walked back to his quarters as if in a daze, and showered and changed. Choking down a cup of coffee and a bagel, he made his way to the bridge almost an hour early. Lieutenant Commander Morrow, gamma shift command officer, looked surprised to see him, but eagerly vacated the center seat and gave a quick status report. Jim surveyed the bridge, soothed as always by the steady background noise. To get his mind off of the situation with Spock, he picked up a PADD and flicked through his messages. Command had gotten back to him a couple days ago about the Keller message with condescending apathy. Jim wasn’t sure what to make of the message, but “don’t worry about it” was probably not the way to go. At the worst, it was confirmation that whoever was working against the Federation in this quadrant had the ability to get to a high-ranking Starfleet officer. Nevertheless, they were still bound for Sigma Canopus. Jim was well aware that they were close to entering the part of space affected by the still-unidentified enemy. The Klingons had been the prime suspects until recent intelligence suggested that they were having their own problems in the nearby sectors across the neutral zone. Raids on planets, supply ships blown up, patrols disappearing, it all sounded too familiar. The gamma shift yeoman appeared at Jim’s side, breaking his reverie.

     “Good morning, Captain. Would you like a cup of coffee before I’m off-duty?”

     Jim smiled up at her. “No thanks, Mears. I’m okay.”

     “Very good, sir.” She stepped up to the upper level and walked in the direction of the Engineering consoles. Jim watched her go, wondering absently if any relationship was easy, even with a pretty, human female. Probably not, especially if Jim was involved.

     Jim had just turned his eyes back to the viewscreen when Ensign X’or at communications suddenly gripped her earpiece and swung her chair to face him. “Captain! Incoming distress call from a Federation transport.”

     “Put it on speakers, Ensign.”

     “Aye, sir. On speakers.”

     The comm line crackled and buzzed and a slightly garbled voice was heard. “Repeat, this is the _U.S.S. Montmorency_ , passenger vessel out of Starbase Twenty en route to New Vulcan colony. We are under attack, repeat under attack. Hostile vessels have engaged us and we are attempting to flee. Current coordinates twenty-six zero nine point two. We have eighty-nine passengers and crew. Please respond.”

     The navigator checked his readouts. “We can arrive at that position within twelve minutes at warp six, Captain.”

     “I have them on long-range scanners, sir!” called the young officer at the science station. “Sending intercept data to the helm.”

     “Red alert. First Officer to the bridge. Set in an intercept course, maximum warp. Engage when ready. X’or, send a confirmation to the _Montmorency_ that we received the distress call and are on our way, ETA approximately twelve minutes. Then contact Starfleet and make them aware of the situation.”

     A flurry of acknowledgments and actions followed his commands. Jim heard the red alert sirens blare. “Tactical plot on the viewer. Walker, continue long-range scans, any data on the attacking vessels?”

     Lieutenant Walker punched several buttons on the science console and shook her head. “Negative, Captain, I’m getting some sort of localized interference in the area surrounding the _Montmorency_.”

     Jim nodded and leaned forward, pushing the intercom button on his chair. “This is the Captain. We are on red alert status, currently in response to a distress call from a Federation passenger ship. The crew reports multiple attacking vessels, identity unknown. All hands battle stations, repeat, battle stations. This is not a drill. Transporter room and shuttle bay, prepare full rescue protocols. Kirk out.” Jim punched the intercom again and stood up, walking around to stand next to Ensign Michaelson at the helm. “Shields, Ensign; confirm all stations battle readiness; phasers charged; photon torpedoes armed.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Spock run onto the bridge, relieving Walker at the science station.

     “Aye, aye, sir. Shields engaged, all stations showing green, phasers and photon torpedoes armed and ready.”

     “Good.” Jim gripped his hands behind his back and watched the countdown on the screen.

     “Captain,” Spock’s voice smoothly broke through the ambient noise of the alert condition, “I have further information on the hostile vessels.”

     Jim hopped up to the upper bridge level, next to his first officer. “Go ahead, Mr. Spock.”

     Spock indicated an energy readout on his console. “The interference is being generated by two attacking vessels and is on a rapidly fluctuating series of wavelengths that suggest an intent to distort both visual and sensor-based information. Such interference has been theorized as the first step to a practical invisibility shield, but has not, to my knowledge, been implemented.”

     “So, they could be alien, or the Klingons may have made a few big steps.”

     “Perhaps, sir. In any case, given the location of the attack, I would suggest a high probability that these vessels may be associated with our unidentified adversaries.”

     Jim looked up as the alpha shift crew rushed onto the bridge, taking over consoles and exchanging rapid-fire status reports with their junior counterparts. “Could the interference...shield, you called it? Could this indicate their other equipment is advanced as well? Weapons and engines and so forth.”

     Spock tilted his head. “I would assume not, Captain. Their extended pursuit of the passenger liner indicates that best speed is not significantly more advanced. Additionally, the theory of this type of interference screen suggests massive energy expenditures in order to allow it to function. Weapons and warp drive may be compromised in favor of the screen.”

     “Can you track the interference? Pin-point where a ship might be, in case we need to fire on it?”

     “I could attempt a probability calculation. An exact estimate is impossible with our current scanners.”

     “Sir,” Uhura had taken over at communications, “the _Montmorency_ has dropped out of warp and is reporting that they are being fired upon. Their engines are damaged.”

     “Broadcast challenge to the attacking vessels, Uhura, warn them off!”

     “Aye, sir!”

     “Thirty seconds to intercept, Captain,” reported Sulu at the helm.

     Jim fell back into his chair. “All weapons stand ready, shields at full power. Spock, send probability estimates to targeting computer as you have them.” The patterns of warpspace suddenly disappeared as the _Enterprise_ dropped out of high warp with a shudder. Jim gritted his teeth and took in the sight of the severely damaged passenger vessel, several bulkhead breaches evident already. “Okay, let’s give them something else to fight.”

 

 


	9. Battle And Aftermath

Chapter Nine: Battle and Aftermath

 

 

     The attacking vessels apparently had no qualms about taking on a heavy cruiser. The first shots came from the forward port side and were mirrored by a powerful blast from the starboard aft. They were bracketed.

     “Shields holding at eighty-six percent, sir! Phasers and photon torpedoes ready on your order,” Sulu barked.

     “Evasive action. Any luck targeting them, Sulu?”

     “No, sir. I’m reading high levels of interference in certain areas, but nowhere near steady enough to get a fix on.”

     Another salvo hit the lower hull, sending shock waves through the bridge. Jim activated his restraints and called over his shoulder, “Spock! Any luck on those calculations?”

     “Working, Captain. The algorithm requires more data before an acceptable targeting solution will be possible.”

     Jim frowned. “You mean we have to let them hit us a few more times before we can fire back.”

     “Precisely, sir.”

     “What is it you always say, Spock? About allowing random chance to operate in our favor? Sulu, fire torpedoes, maximum possible spread, set for spherical blanket, random ignition distance between five hundred and one thousand kilometers.”

     “Aye, sir, computing now.”

     The ship shook again, and again. Sparks flew from the tactical station. Sulu threw Jim a glance. “Shields at sixty-one percent, sir. Torpedoes ready on your order.”

     “Fire!”

     The torpedoes flew in rapid bursts from the forward tubes, turning immediately in every direction to achieve a spherical configuration around the ship. Seconds later, a series of explosions lit up the viewscreen. The bursts were relatively contained, until a particularly large one bloomed off the starboard side, about eight hundred kilometers away. “Sulu! Target that explosion and fire phasers!” Jim ordered.

     “Aye, sir, firing phasers.”

     The phasers swept out over the intervening space, but did not contact anything. “Phasers missed, sir!” Sulu confirmed.

     A powerful hit aft sent damage control messages streaming over the loudspeaker. “Shields still holding, Captain, continuing emergency evasive.”

     “Mr. Sulu, calculations complete, switch targeting to main computer,” Spock broke in, his voice as calm as ever.

     “Yes, sir, switching now.” There was a pause and another hit amidships, and then the phaser array lit up, firing simultaneously at two areas and sweeping the beams in an arcing trajectory. A powerful explosion lit up the screen almost directly in front of the ship, and the scattered remnants of a vessel were seen suddenly strewn across the bow.

     “Got him, sir!” called Chekov excitedly. Jim gave a hard smile, conscious of the second vessel somewhere out there.

     “Shields at forty-seven percent, sir,” Sulu said tensely.

     There was a pause, and Spock spoke from where he was studying the sensor readouts, “Scans indicate a warp signature in the area and the sensor interference is gone. The other ship appears to have departed, sir.”

     The captain turned his chair to face Uhura. “Lieutenant, hail the _Montmorency_ ; tell them we’re prepared to render assistance and beam survivors on board.” At her acknowledgement, Jim hit the intercom on his chair. “This is the captain. One hostile vessel has been destroyed and the other has fled. Go to yellow alert status. We are foregoing pursuit in order to render aid to the _Montmorency_. Damage control reports to the First Officer. Kirk out.”

     Jim released his chair restraints and walked over to stand next to Sulu. “Bring us alongside the _Montmorency_ , Hikaru. Spock, scan for life readings and any radiation danger. Prepare to drop screens to beam survivors aboard.”

     Uhura called down, “Sir, the _Montmorency_ has lost voice communications, but I am receiving telemetry. They indicate significant damage and imminent core failure, estimate fifteen minutes, and request emergency beam-out of survivors immediately.”

     “Acknowledge that message, Uhura. Signal transporter room to begin beam-out as soon as the screens are down and request emergency medical personnel stand by. Spock, keep scanning for that hostile vessel.”

     The _Enterprise_ slipped alongside the damaged passenger vessel and Sulu lowered the screens. Transport began quickly and efficiently, with sixty-two still alive. Jim sat stiffly in his chair. His adrenaline rush from the battle hadn’t dissipated, and he was well aware they still were not out of danger. Behind him, Spock turned. “Captain, evacuation successful, I estimate four point six minutes until core failure. Recommend immediate withdrawal from the area.”

     “Right. You heard him, Sulu, let’s get out of Dodge.”

     “Aye, sir.” The _Enterprise_ maneuvered away from the doomed vessel and streaked into warp drive as behind them, the _Montmorency_ shuddered and exploded dramatically, the stars her only witness.

 

 

 

     Jim listened to Spock’s status report, finally letting his shoulders relax. Scotty was slowly repairing their shielding capacity and damage control crews were making progress implementing repairs. Jim sent off a message alerting Starfleet Command to the situation. Fleet’s reply was a short confirmation, and new orders that they were to head directly to New Vulcan, the anticipated destination of the doomed carrier, to deliver the rescued passengers and crew. Apparently, there was a significant complement of Vulcans onboard from the _Montmorency_ , and Starfleet did not want to take any more chances with members of an endangered species. Finally, Jim called down to sickbay.

     Bones answered promptly, his tone gruff, “We got sixty-two on board, Jim. Most with minor injuries; smoke inhalation, radiation burns, lacerations. There are seven critical, two in surgery now. I think they’ll all make it, though. Among our crew, nothing serious, bumps and bruises.”

     Jim replied, “Thanks, Bones. Is the captain of the _Montmorency_ aboard?”

     There was a pause, and then Bones came back on, “The captain’s dead. The XO’s here, though, and able to talk to you, if you can come down.”

     “On my way, Kirk out.” Jim jumped up and headed for the turbolift. “Spock, you have the conn.”

     Jim took note of the small signs of disarray in the corridors as he made his way to sickbay. He stopped to speak to several crewmembers, and listened as Spock’s voice came intermittently over the intercom, directing specific repair efforts. Sickbay was controlled chaos. A triage area was set up just inside, with scared and disheveled civilians clustered around chairs and on biobeds. Jim noticed that a number of the patients appeared to be Vulcan, confirming Starfleet’s order. Nurses came and went swiftly, and one of them, observing Jim’s entrance, gestured towards the main ward. Jim nodded and carefully stepped through.

     The main ward was quieter, but tension was everywhere. Civilians lay on biobeds, some covered with tubes and wires. The sensor panels above them blinked and chirped, and an occasional alarm burst out, drawing nurses and doctors at a run. Jim saw a doctor he didn’t recognize working among his crewmembers, and assumed he was from the passenger vessel.

     “Jim, over here!” Bones called, and waved at him from the back, leading to the isolation units. As the captain walked over, Bones pulled off the soiled white surgical gown he was wearing and dumped it in a waste receptacle. “The XO’s in one of the isolation rooms. She’s pretty badly burned and we didn’t want to risk infection. I’ve got her in a sterile field, but you can see her; she’s eager to talk to you.”

     “Okay, Bones, thanks.” Jim followed the doctor into the nearest room and walked in behind him. A middle-aged woman was floating a few inches above the bed in a repulsor field, sterile light beams blanketing her form. Her body was covered in a thick, opaque, blue gel, but her face was clear, her hair pulled into a haphazard bun at the base of her neck. As the two men entered, she turned her head towards them. Her eyes were a little hazy, but she focused on Jim immediately.

     “Jan Hough, XO of the _Montmorency_.” She took in a slightly ragged breath, but her voice remained steady. “On behalf of all of us, thank you for your assistance.”

     “Ma’am,” Jim replied. “We’re just sorry we couldn’t have gotten there sooner. Anything you can tell me about the attacking vessels? Did they make contact with you at all?”

     Hough drew in another ragged breath. McCoy stepped in next to the biobed and peered at the readouts as she answered, “No contact. No demands. They came in fast-we were only alerted to their presence by a strange disturbance on a routine sensor sweep, just minutes before they hit us.” She licked her lips. “We didn’t have weapons, or even real screens beyond standard deflectors. We got a message off and ran for it. You....you know the rest... .” Her voice trailed off as her eyes began to close.

     Jim glanced worriedly at McCoy, who shrugged, his lips tight. “It’s the painkillers, Jim, and she’s still in shock. I’d leave it alone for a while, let her get some rest.”

     Jim nodded. “Of course, Bones.” He left the room solemnly, his expression intense. He only realized McCoy had followed him when the doctor touched his arm suddenly. Jim looked up and saw the unfamiliar doctor from before standing nearby.

     “Captain, this is Dr. Geoff M’Benga,” said Bones. “He’s Fleet, but was traveling as a passenger on the _Montmorency_. He’s been helping us out here.”

     “Doctor. Jim Kirk. Thanks for your assistance.” Jim held out his hand, and M’Benga shook it, his grip strong. The captain was struck by the stoicism of the man’s face.

     “Pleased to be aboard, Captain. I only wish it was under better circumstances.”

     McCoy piped up from beside them, “Jim, M’Benga has been very helpful with our Vulcan patients. He did his internship on Vulcan, and has been assisting with Starfleet’s efforts to aid Vulcan survivors’ immigration to the new colony.” McCoy’s voice had a pointed tone buried under the usual drawl. Jim ignored it, for now. They had more pressing issues.

     “Good. Well, I’ve got to get back to the bridge, gentlemen. We’re anticipating arrival at New Vulcan in two days. Keep me informed.”

     “Sure, Jim.”

     “Sir.”

 

 

 

     The next few hours were a flurry of activity. The survivors who were well enough to leave sickbay were given emergency quarters, and repairs continued on the ship. All of the critical patients were improving. Spock had spent time analyzing the data acquired during the battle, and concluded that the vessels had most likely been the very scout ships that disappeared weeks before in another area of Beta quadrant, suspected to have been taken by the still unidentified aggressors. Of course, they had been modified somehow, accounting for the interference shields. The trace on the second vessel’s departing warp signature was negative. Jim had his suspicions that there was a connection between Keller’s message and the attack on the _Montmorency_ , which drew the _Enterprise,_ but without any evidence from the attackers, he was at a loss to prove it. After a final senior staff meeting in the briefing room, Jim retired to his quarters, leaving Spock, who was still working on his analyses, in command.

     Jim entered his cabin and sank onto his couch, automatically raising the temperature. He had a slight tension headache and was still too jumpy for sleep. The blocked bond was still dark and silent in his mind, but he was somehow more aware of it than usual. Jim rubbed his hands over his face. The battle and aftermath had drained him of his usual excess energy. He was considering ordering a cup of tea from the replicator when his door buzzed. Jim looked up, surprised. Bones had been heading back down to sickbay and Spock to the bridge. “Come,” he called out.

     The doors swished open and Dr. M’Benga stepped in. “I am sorry to disturb you, Captain.”

     Jim stood up, straightening his uniform. “Uh, no problem, Doctor, what can I do for you?”

     The doctor looked at him carefully, his face expressionless. “Dr. McCoy requested that I stop by. He mentioned that you had some questions about Vulcan bonding.”

     Jim’s face lost all color, and he inwardly cursed his friend’s meddling. Outwardly, noting M’Benga’s now slightly curious look, he forced a casual smile. There was a slightly awkward pause as Jim weighed the possibilities. He could send M’Benga right back out again, and forward a nasty message to Bones, or he could actually talk with someone, a _human_ , who might be able to explain all of this to him in a way he could understand and perhaps better deal with.

     “Okay,” he said finally, “I would appreciate your expertise, but you should know what I’m about to tell you is strictly on a need-to-know basis, and must be kept confidential.”

     M’Benga managed to look slightly insulted in the same aloof way that Spock did, with minimal movement of facial muscles. “I understand, Captain, I am, of course, bound by the strictures of patient confidentiality.”

     “Unlike some other doctors I know,” muttered Jim under his breath. Louder, he said, “Please have a seat,” and gestured to his couch. M’Benga moved over and sat down, as Jim retreated to pull one of his desk chairs out.

     The doctor waited, and Jim swallowed and began. He told M’Benga of the initial, spontaneous link and of the circumstances leading to the bonding. He briefly discussed what McCoy had told him happened upon their recovery from the life pod, the meeting with the healer, and his decision to ask Spock to shield the bond. He mentioned the word _t’hy’la_. He finally described Spock’s apparent exhaustion and his own sudden energy and that he had been having strange dreams. By the time he finished, M’Benga’s eyes were wide and he was sitting painfully straight on the couch. Jim took a breath and leaned back.

     The doctor nodded to himself and then opened his mouth. “Captain, what you have described is quite extraordinary. Could you explain to me a bit more about why you wished Commander Spock to shield the bond?”

     Jim shifted uncomfortably. “Um, yeah. I felt...that my mind was exposed in a way I wasn’t ready for. I felt trapped and unable to defend myself. When we first came back, Spock was still in a lot of pain and I felt that, too. The bond was really uncomfortable.” He looked to the side briefly and M’Benga, sensing that there was more, waited patiently. “Also, I...harbor feelings for him that I’m pretty sure he doesn’t return. Well, I’ve never asked him. This all sounds kind of stupid all laid out like this, doesn’t it?”

     M’Benga inhaled and folded his hands in his lap. “Captain. I am not a mind healer, and therefore cannot directly assess your bond. However, if Healer T’Vai certified it strong and sound, as you say, then I am satisfied to rule that out as a source of your problem. That being said, I would ask you what you believe the bond itself means? Especially in light of it being pronounced as that of _t’hy’la_.”

     Jim furrowed his brow. “Spock said it was like being soulmates or something. He said our minds were very compatible. I figured it was a deep connection to a friend. He used the term brother-by-choice.”

     “It is indeed all those things, Captain. However, it is also much more. A _t’hy’la_ bond is, quite honestly, the stuff of legend. Even on Vulcan, it was rare for two people to share that depth of connection. It means soul-bonding, and entwining of your _katra_ , or spirits, at a fundamental level, that may, it is believed, extend even beyond death. It requires not only a strong mental compatibility, but also a strong love between individuals. It could not have been successfully offered to a...colleague, no matter the affinity between your minds. Therefore, your concern that Commander Spock does not return your feelings is unfounded.”

     Jim looked at him, his eyes narrowed. “But what about the fact that leaving the bond open initially was so painful? The fact that I can’t seem to get over my personal shit?”

     M’Benga nodded again. “These concerns are valid, Captain. I believe there are two issues here. The first is that the Commander was suffering from, and then still recovering from, a traumatic mental attack directly after the bond was formed and when it was initially allowed to be unshielded. I am concerned myself that T’Vai recommended more than a brief initial unshielding. Now, if the Commander has had time to heal and regain his control and shields, the sensation and perception of pain should be gone. Secondly, you are human, and by nature psi-null. You must understand that so much of Vulcan cultural understanding is not passed verbally, but through private mental contact. Perhaps Commander Spock was not prepared to properly explain to you what is required, or perhaps, and I think this more likely, he himself does not know. Captain, was he bonded before the loss of his planet?”

     Jim frowned and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

     M’Benga raised an eyebrow. “If he was not bonded before, he would not know what is involved with settling and maintaining a bond. You will find that Vulcans are quite notorious for avoiding explanations about such things until absolutely necessary. In any case, it is natural for you to feel fear and uncertainty in the face of such an intimate, permanent, connection. You must understand, however, that the bond itself is not an invasion, but a joining. You are not helpless, but empowered within it. I believe that the symptoms you have described, especially in Commander Spock, are due to neglect of necessary physical and mental contact between bondmates. Did the healer not discuss this with you?”

     Jim scoffed. “Nope, she was pretty worthless, actually. Spock had to yell at her at one point when she was melding with me.”

     The doctor looked very worried, the most expression he had exhibited yet. “This is quite disturbing, Captain. Especially considering the circumstances under which the bonding took place, and considering that you are human.”

     “Yeah, well, that may have been part of the problem. She seemed put off by the fact that there were one-and-a-half humans in a _t’hy’la_ bond.”

     “Indeed.” M’Benga rubbed his chin with one hand and leaned back slightly. “Centrism is not a new problem among Vulcans, I am sad to say, but only recently, since the fall of Vulcan, has it become a prominent, and almost acceptable, point of view. You and Commander Spock should have been instructed to share as much physical and mental contact as possible, in order to allow the bond to ‘settle’. This process involves both biochemical and physiological changes. In a normal bonding situation between adults, the individuals are sequestered for a week or so to allow this closeness. It appears you both have done precisely the opposite, leading to detrimental effects primarily to him, which makes sense as he is telepathic and more sensitive to the bond’s demands.”

     “Does this mean we’ve damaged it?” Jim blurted.

     “Not permanently, I should think,” replied M’Benga. “Mental contact via melding may have been problematic in the beginning, but if both your minds are now healthy, you should be able to proceed. Of course, physical contact will aid in the health of your bond.”

     Jim’s face grew flushed. “What kind of physical contact? Sex?”

     The doctor was unflustered. “Not necessarily. Any type of contact or touching should accomplish what you seek. Intercourse will accelerate the process, however.”

     “Um, okay,” Jim muttered, still feeling his cheeks burning. “And, the rest of it? My unwillingness to let him in?”

     M’Benga finally smiled slightly. “Captain, you have been given a great gift. To have a mental connection with someone like this is rare. I believe you will find it defining. I would advise you to think of this as less of a battle against another and more of a surrender to yourself. Your mind fully accepted the bond initially or it would never have formed in the first place. The subsequent trauma affected you both profoundly, but I believe, if you simply allow yourself to accept the bond again, you will find peace within it and with your bondmate.”

     Jim thought about it. He remembered the feeling of helplessness and the pain, but then he remembered how it felt to sense Spock’s hidden emotions, to lean on his mental presence when the healer’s frightening touch was looming. He remembered the warmth in his friend’s mind and the way the loss of feeling Spock’s presence as a sixth sense made Jim feel cold. Finally, he thought of Spock’s recent words to him:  _All that I am, is yours_. Jim met M’Benga’s dark eyes and smiled back. “Okay.”

 

 

 

     After M’Benga left, Jim felt lighter; the bond was a black box, but at least Jim had a place to start. Step one, remove shield, step two, meld and hold hands? Jim chuckled to himself, aware his internal monologue was becoming slightly hysterical, and decided that step zero should be to eat something and then have a hot shower. He was on his way to the replicator when the door buzzed again. Suppressing an annoyed sigh, Jim turned and ordered it open. To his surprise, a young, male Vulcan stood there, presumably one of the _Montmorency_ survivors, wearing civilian clothes and an impressively impassive expression.

     “Captain,” he began, “my name is S’Loren. I have an urgent matter to discuss with you, if you will allow me.”

     Jim off-handedly noticed that the young man had quite a strong accent for a Vulcan. He straightened up, assuming his “captain” stance, and gestured for him to come in. “Of course. How may I be of assistance? Would you care to have a seat?”

     S’Loren glided forward and stopped in the middle of the room, about six feet from Jim. The door to the cabin slid smoothly shut. As if the sound were a trigger, S’Loren was suddenly moving, and moving fast, directly at him. Jim reacted without conscious thought. He had sparred with Spock enough to know how to use S’Loren’s greater body mass against him and twisted away from the first blows, diving forward and rolling. The young Vulcan was quick to move after him, and Jim blocked two more hits before his head rang with a devastating blow to his jaw. Disoriented, he ducked away, dodging sideways, intent on reaching the door. S’Loren caught him halfway there, grabbing his arm and throwing him bodily against the side of his desk. Jim managed to keep from falling completely, and spun away, trying to keep the desk between himself and his attacker.

     “Computer!” he yelled, and suddenly the Vulcan vaulted over the desk, hitting Jim in the chest with his feet and cutting off his call for help. With a grunt of pain, he landed face-down, spitting blood onto the floor. Instantly, S’Loren was on top of him, pinning him down. He saw a glimmer of a hypo out of the corner of his eye and struggled mightily, but to no avail. He felt the cold tip of the hypo against his neck, and then...

     There was the sound of a violent blow and S’Loren’s weight disappeared from atop his body. Jim rolled dazedly over to see Spock land a second and a third powerful blow on the other Vulcan, knocking him against the far bulkhead. Just as S’Loren started to slide down to the floor, Spock had him by the throat, lifting him up against the wall and hissing something in Vulcan. Three security officers appeared in the doorway, phasers drawn. Spock’s fingers had tightened around S’Loren’s neck, and the intruder’s body was twitching, his face turning an ugly dark green.

     “Spock,” Jim croaked, still on the floor. He tried again, “Spock! Stop!” There was a long second where he thought that Spock was going to kill S’Loren anyway and he considered ordering security to stun them both. Then, Spock abruptly loosened his grip, allowing the other Vulcan to fall to the floor in a heap, gasping for breath. Spock took two deliberate steps back as security swarmed in around the disoriented

     “Security alert one. Take him to sickbay under full prisoner protocols,” Spock ordered. “The remaining survivors are to be placed under constant security observation and inform Engineering to perform a full systems and equipment manual check to rule out sabotage.”

     “Yes, sir. Right away,” answered one of the officers.

     “And have the contents of the hypo analyzed.” Spock turned to look at Jim, who had managed to get off the floor and was now rubbing his tender jaw with one hand and holding his damaged ribcage with the other. “Captain, are you alright? May I escort you to sickbay?”

     Jim nodded, his head aching, and his body sore. “I’ll be okay. And, yes, you may see me to sickbay.”

     Spock was staring at the blood on his lips, the rapidly-forming bruise on his cheek. Jim hadn’t seen that fierce look in his dark eyes since the last time the captain had gotten thrown around by a Vulcan. The captain waited until the security officers had gone before speaking again. “Spock,” he said softly. Spock lifted his gaze. “How did you know?”

     “I sensed your heightened emotional state,” he replied, the flat tone of his voice contrasting strongly with the wild look still in his eyes. “As I mentioned, there is some unavoidable emotional transference that will overcome my shielding.”

     Jim raised his eyebrows and snorted gently. “Well, lucky me, I guess.” He paused, searching Spock’s face. “Thank you. You, uh, probably could have just stunned him, though. You didn’t have to bash your hands in.”

     Spock flexed his hands almost involuntarily and then reached out for Jim’s arm. “Please, Jim, allow me to take you to sickbay.” His voice was softer, with a hint of pleading.

     “Sure.” Jim let Spock take his arm, supporting him. With the physical contact, he became aware of slightly leaky edges around the bond, feeling his friend’s warmth through his hand as well as in his mind. As they made their way down the corridor, Jim leaned into his first officer. He felt Spock’s fingers tighten almost possessively on his bicep, but the Vulcan did not look at him again.

     When they reached sickbay, McCoy met them nearly at the door and had Jim on a biobed eight seconds later. The doctor was a flurry of activity, administering hypos, checking readings, feeling Jim’s chest and jaw, and muttering a colorful litany of expletives under his voice. Spock stood by silently, watching McCoy’s ministrations, until one of the security guards in charge of the prisoner called the Vulcan over to one of the secure isolation rooms. As he left, Jim felt the bond seal back up again, silent in his head. “Fuck,” he muttered.

     “What’s that, Jim?” barked McCoy, running a regenerator over Jim’s bruised cheek and jaw.

     “Nothing,” Jim replied shortly. “How’s S’Loren?”

     “You mean the crazy Vulcan who tried to shoot you full of Lexorin after wiping the floor with you?” McCoy drawled. “I put him in full restraints and he’s under guard. No permanent damage, surprisingly.” He paused from his work and eyed Jim. “The security guards were pretty excited about Spock. I take it his phaser was broken or something? Couldn’t quite help himself from beating the shit out of the guy? He seems to do that a lot for a pacifist Vulcan.”

     Jim shot Bones a hard look. “He got there just in time, Bones.”

     “Course he did. He seems to have an uncanny knack for pulling your bacon out of the fire over and over. Must be because he thinks you’re a very efficient and valuable Starfleet officer whom he would never have any sort of illogical feelings for.”

     Jim glanced around, glad to notice no one else in earshot. “Shut up, Bones. I talked to M’Benga, okay. Right before the crazy Vulcan showed up. You can stop with the not-so-subtle psych bullshit.” He slowly pushed himself up and swung his legs over the bed, despite McCoy’s sudden glower. “I’m going to find out what’s going on back there.”

     Bones waved his arms with an exasperated air. “Well, fine. Don’t let me stop you. What do I know anyway, being just a country doctor and all.” Jim ignored him and heard McCoy huff, then fall into step behind him as the captain headed for the secured area.

 

 

 

     As Jim walked in, he saw a phalanx of security red surrounding the walls. Spock was standing next to the bed where S’Loren lay conscious, but restrained. Lieutenant Commander Toomey was on the other side, asking a series of questions but obviously getting no answers.

     “Who do you work for? Why did you attack Captain Kirk? What purpose did the drug serve? Were you planning on kidnapping him?” S’Loren’s formerly impassive face now held a smug sneer, and Toomey seemed to be on the verge of attempting to repeat Spock’s previous performance.

     After another ten minutes of this, Jim walked up to his first officer. “Can I have a word?” he said, his voice low. He led Spock out to an adjacent, empty room and looked him directly in the eyes. “You know as well as I do that this attack may have been the one alluded to by Keller. S’Loren may be one of them, and possibly connected to Keller somehow. We’ve got a heap of trouble brewing, and we need answers fast. Especially since we’re still in the dark about whom to trust, and what to expect. That prisoner in there is the only lead we have.”

     “You wish me to use a mind meld,” Spock said flatly.

     “I don’t see that we have any other choice. He’s a Vulcan; he can’t be broken with truth drugs or any other kind of interrogation technique. We need information and we need it now.”

     Spock swallowed and looked away. “Captain, it will be difficult. He will resist, and I am reluctant, ethically.”

     “I can’t order you to do it. But I can ask you.”

     There was a long pause as Jim watched Spock breathe, and then the Vulcan inclined his head. “Very well, sir. I will proceed. I will need some degree of privacy, however, and a short time to prepare.” He met Jim’s eyes again, his look intense. “I cannot guarantee that my shielding of the bond will remain intact during the process. I suggest you prepare yourself.”

     Jim nodded. “Do what you need to do. I’ll tell McCoy and clear the room. Come in when you’re ready.”

 

 

 

    When Spock re-entered the secure area, Jim and McCoy were standing next to the door, waiting. All the security guards but Toomey had been dismissed to wait outside the isolation ward. Toomey himself was standing only a couple feet away from the still-restrained and prone prisoner, his phaser out and aimed, not taking any chances. As the doors shut behind the first officer, Jim commanded the computer to seal the room. S’Loren watched them out of the corner of his eyes, his expression disdainful. It was only when he saw Spock step forward, clasping his hands together with a look of concentration on his face, that he finally spoke.

     “You would not dare, Kirk,” he hissed, eyes on the approaching Vulcan.

     “Oh, I would,” Jim replied. “We’re going to get answers, mister, and you’re going to give them to us.”

     S’Loren struggled within the restraints, his eyes widening as Spock reached his side. “You insult me by this useless gesture! Sending a mentally deficient half-breed to attempt to force my mind. I will fight back! You will have nothing left of your bondmate but a useless, drooling shell!”

     Jim and McCoy shared a startled look, and then Jim stepped forward. “Why do you call him my bondmate?”

     S’Loren must have realized he’d given too much away, because his face hardened and he stared at the ceiling silently. Spock glanced at Jim. “Proceed,” ordered the captain.

     Spock reached forward with both hands, fitting his fingers onto S’Loren’s psi points. For a long minute there was nothing but the sound of breathing in the room. Toomey looked thoroughly confused and a little scared, but his phaser remained steady. Finally, S’Loren’s body jerked and he let out a whimper. Spock leaned forward and adjusted his fingers slightly and the whimper became a cry. Jim felt something along the bond, a murmur of a struggle, a battle, and S’Loren suddenly was outflanked. With a harsh scream, his body convulsed and the alarms over the biobed flared. Spock’s face became contorted, but his eyes were steady, and his grip sure.

     McCoy made an involuntary motion forward, watching the monitors. “My god, Jim, his heart just stopped and started again. Twice. It’s like he’s trying to kill himself and something’s preventing him.”

     Jim remained silent, feeling a dull ache within his mind, but sensing that the shield was holding, for now. There was another harsh scream from the prisoner and then Spock began to speak, his voice ragged and quiet, “We...are...the _Ren shat’var_...Those who remain. We are the true people....we respect the old ways...we will triumph over those whose weakness threatens our...culture. You cannot...stop our march to victory. You half-breed bastard and your human whore will...die as an example. We...will assert our presence...and lead the galaxy into a new order...”. S’Loren’s teeth were gritted together, and a primal growl emerged from him. He shuddered under the restraints again and Spock adjusted his fingers, his breaths coming in rapid pants. “We...are the way. We are the...future. You cannot stop us...cannot stop... cannot... .” S’Loren gave a final, agonized yell and went limp, his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open. Jim and McCoy looked up at the biomonitor panels, which showed faint but steady lifesigns. Spock didn’t move.

     “Spock?” Jim murmured, stepping forward slowly.

     Toomey’s phaser hand was now shaking, his eyes huge. “Captain,” he questioned, “what do you want me to do?”

     “Stay where you are,” Jim ordered. “Don’t move that phaser.” All three humans waited. Jim, desperation in his voice, spoke again, “Spock?”

 

 


	10. I've Got You

Chapter Ten: I’ve Got You

 

 

     The meld broke suddenly, and Spock stepped back, releasing his fingers from S’Loren’s lax face. He swayed on his feet and raised his hands to his temples. Jim exchanged a worried glance with McCoy. “Spock. Are you alright?”

     Without raising his eyes or turning around, the first officer spoke rapidly, “Captain. There is an immediate terrorist threat to New Vulcan. He knows no specifics except that the attack is imminent and will employ deadly force. He is a member of a group of Vulcan outcasts who call themselves the _Ren shat’var_ , which is from an old Romulan dialect meaning “Those who remain”. They believe Vulcan was destroyed because of the weakness stemming from Surakian culture and IDIC. They believe they are on a crusade and are taking steps to destroy not only the Federation, but the Klingon government as well. They have employed Starfleet traitors, renegade Klingon scientists and for-hire soldiers. They are...Jim, we have to get to New Vulcan immediately and alert Starfleet Command. And S’Loren must...be kept...unconscious or he will...he will kill himself. Jim? Jim, I cannot...please... .”

     Spock turned to look at the captain, but his eyes were unfocused, his expression tortured. Jim immediately felt it: Spock’s shields, weakened from keeping the bond blocked, and damaged from the grim task of breaking into another mind, were crumbling catastrophically. Jim reached for him, but Spock fell to his knees, his hands tightening over his head, and he shut his eyes with a soft cry. “No!”

     Jim was dimly aware of McCoy’s voice shouting, of falling to his own knees beside his friend. The last shield over the bond finally shattered in a blaze of emotion and sensation that left Jim reeling. He felt Spock’s pain from the forced meld, the cacophony of emotion from the other humans on the ship, and beneath it all, the swell of anger, confusion, desperation, love. Unconditional, incomprehensible love. It crashed like a wave over the captain, and he fought for breath.

     “I’ve got you,” he gasped, and struggled to wrap his arms around his bondmate, holding the shaking form tightly to his body. “I’ve got you. I won’t let go. I won’t leave you. It’s alright.”

     The hiss of a hypo sounded close to his ear and the onslaught suddenly faded as Spock went limp in his arms. McCoy was crouched next to them, looking flustered. Toomey, his phaser still trained on S’Loren, was staring, his mouth open. Jim swallowed and somehow found his voice. “Commander, get your men back in here. Bones, help me get Spock up.”

     Toomey flipped open his communicator with one hand and spoke rapidly as Bones eased one of Spock’s arms over his shoulders. As five security guards burst in, Jim and Bones carried Spock into one of the other isolation rooms and eased him onto a biobed. Bones turned on the scanner and fiddled with the settings on the nearby console as Jim hurried to the communications unit on the wall panel.

     “Kirk to bridge.”

     “Bridge, Uhura here.”

     “Lieutenant, get me Starfleet Command on a secure frequency, top priority. Pipe it down to McCoy’s office. And increase speed to New Vulcan, maximum warp. Tell Scotty to push her for all she’ll take.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “Bones,” Jim turned to his friend, “is he going to be okay?”

     The doctor took a breath and let it out slowly, studying the readouts next to the bed. “I don’t know, Jim. His brain wave activity is incredibly high and erratic. I don’t want to double up on the sedative, though. Can you feel anything right now?”

     “No,” Jim replied. “I’ve got to make the call to Starfleet about this new information. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The doctor nodded, still taking readings. With one last glance at the figure on the biobed, Jim jogged out to the main area of sickbay and into McCoy’s office.

     He only had to wait a few seconds before Uhura’s voice came over the comm, “I have Admiral Spencer, sir, switching.”

     Jim composed his expression as Spencer’s face appeared on McCoy’s desk screen. “Admiral, I’ll cut to the chase. I assume you are aware of our recent engagement with the unidentified, hostile vessels responsible for the attack on the _U.S.S. Montmorency_?”

     “Of course, Kirk. I assume you have some more information for me?”

     Jim ignored the thin sarcasm underlying her statement. Spencer had been a good friend of Marcus’, and although she had denounced his actions and distanced herself following the _Vengeance_ incident, she held a barely-veiled hostility towards Jim. “Yes, ma’am. One of the Vulcan survivors just attacked me in my quarters. We now have him in custody and through questioning, he revealed information about the group responsible for the ongoing trouble in Beta quadrant. They’re known as the _Ren shat’var_ , and claim to be Vulcan separatists. Ma’am, I believe that this attack was the one alluded to by Commodore Keller, which suggests not only that the Commodore may have been murdered by operatives representing this group, but also that Keller himself may have been compromised. Additionally, the attacker gave us information that a terrorist attack was imminent on New Vulcan. Accordingly, I have increased speed to maximum, and respectfully request you notify New Vulcan authorities to initiate a planetary security alert.”

     Spencer blinked at him a moment and then leaned back in her chair. “You’re suggesting that a group of _Vulcans_ is responsible for all the shit that’s been going down in Beta quadrant and across Klingon lines? And they’re going to attack their own colony? And that Starfleet personnel are involved?”

     Jim nodded forcefully. “Yes, ma’am. We suspected infiltration based on the information Commander Spock retrieved when we were attacked on the way to Admiral Hamilton’s summit. I believe Commodore Keller’s message to me confirms it.”

     Spencer narrowed her eyes suddenly. “Kirk, if your prisoner is a Vulcan, how did you obtain this information from him? I hardly think he would have divulged anything under standard questioning.”

     “I requested Commander Spock perform a mind meld, ma’am.”

     Spencer ran a hand over her eyes. “Jesus, Kirk, you really do know how to throw a shit party, don’t you? Starfleet’s already in hot water with the Vulcans due to Section Thirty-one and the Klingon escalation, and now you’re going to warp into their space with a lot of accusations about home-grown terrorist separatists based on information you gained from getting your first officer to perform a highly reckless mind fuck on one of their citizens?”

     Jim winced, but stood his ground. “I hardly think that is an accurate assessment of the situation, Admiral.”

     Spencer glared. “Stand by, Kirk.”

     The screen went gray, as the connection was placed on standby. Jim leaned back in his seat and chewed his lip. In less than five minutes, the screen lit up again, and this time Admiral Hamilton’s face peered back at him.

     “Captain Kirk, I’ve been informed by Admiral Spencer of your situation and have requested that I take over due to my familiarity with the enemy’s activity. I don’t know if I like this, but it appears we have no choice. You are to continue on course to New Vulcan, maximum speed, and assess the security situation when you arrive. You are not to proceed with any action unless specifically authorized by the New Vulcan High Council. I want a vid transcript of that mind meld sent to me immediately, as well as the prisoner’s ID and any other information you have on him. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you to maintain security alert onboard. We don’t have any other leads, so we’re going with this one, but keep in mind this is a potential diplomatic nightmare, Kirk. Tread lightly.”

     Jim nodded. “Understood, sir.” After Hamilton killed the connection, Jim checked in with the bridge and cajoled Scotty into managing warp seven, meaning they would arrive in New Vulcan space in less than twelve hours.

 

 

 

     By the time Jim returned to Spock’s room, McCoy was standing outside the door. As he approached, the doctor pressed the access key and the doors slid open, admitting the two men before silently slipping shut behind them. The lights were dimmed in the room and the temperature was turned up. McCoy spoke quietly, “His brain wave patterns are back near normal, but he needs rest, Jim. I’ll check on him again as the sedative wears off. I’ve, uh, got the prisoner on a heavy-duty dose of sedatives. He should stay under for now.”

     Jim nodded, his eyes on Spock. McCoy stepped closer to him, touching his arm briefly to get his attention. “Jim. That Vulcan, S’Loren? How did he know about the bond?”

     “I don’t know, Bones. Keller, maybe.”

     McCoy twisted his lips, following Jim’s gaze to their unconscious friend. “I guess the Lexorin makes more sense now. It’s a badass psi-blocker, Jim, similar to what I had you on after we pulled you out of the life pod but much stronger. It would have shut off your bond pretty devastatingly. I suppose the bastard didn’t count on Spock.”

     “Or maybe he was counting on the feeling of the sudden block to do Spock in, too.” Jim replied, his eyes narrowing. “You said Spock went into arrest when you applied the blocker before.” Jim cocked his head, thinking. “But why not just plan to kill me? Why the hypo?”

     McCoy shrugged. “I knew it was a big no-no to use any type of psi-blocker on a telepath. And, like you said, with what happened with you and Spock before, it seems almost equally dangerous to use it on a telepath’s bondmate. Maybe natural severing due to death is bad, but not as bad as an artificial method. Who the fuck knows? It does seem like that bastard wanted you both to suffer.” The doctor’s hands balled into fists, but he smirked wryly, jutting his chin at Spock. “Well, I guess I owe the hobgoblin a drink or something.” At Jim’s half-smile, McCoy huffed, “Don’t tell him I said that. Just forget it. Anyway, I’ve got to go make sure the prisoner stays under and Spock needs to sleep this off. You coming?”

     The captain looked at the doctor, a question in his eyes. McCoy sighed, “Sure, you can stay with him. Not like he can avoid your thoughts anyway these days.”

     “Thanks, Bones,” Jim replied, returning the doctor’s smile, and walked towards the biobed. The captain was aware of McCoy stepping out, the door sliding shut, and a gentle beep sounding from the wall unit, indicating privacy protocols were engaged. Jim stood for a minute, looking down at the Vulcan, and then made up his mind. Leaning over, he gently maneuvered Spock onto his side and then slid onto the bed behind him, wrapping an arm around him and holding him tightly, feeling his warmth. Jim pressed his nose into the Vulcan’s hair, feeling the silky texture and inhaling its scent. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, and simply breathed.

     Barely two hours had passed when Jim felt something awaken in his mind. He felt Spock’s awareness spread through the bond and finally felt a slight stiffening of the body he held against his own. “Jim.” The Vulcan’s voice was soft.

     “Yeah,” Jim said. He tightened his arm around Spock’s waist as he sensed the Vulcan try to move. “Take it easy. Are you sure you’re okay to get up?”

     “I am certain,” Spock replied, and Jim released him so that he could sit up, swinging his legs over the edge of the biobed. Jim sat up as well, crossing his legs in front of him and watching his first officer.

     Spock turned his head to regard his captain. “I apologize for the lapse in my shielding, Jim. If I may be allowed to meditate, I can restore the proper block over the bond.” Jim felt the shifting colors of Spock’s mind organize into resolve and a distinct sense of longing. The captain felt it too, a strong desire to resume physical contact. He could tell that the Vulcan’s mental controls were not yet fully re-established, but he could feel Spock’s warm presence in his mind, and he was satisfied to experience none of the unpleasant sensations from before.

     Jim smiled and shook his head. “I don’t want it restored, Spock. I know you need to fix your shields, but leave the bond open.”

     The Vulcan stared at him, bewilderment in the brown eyes. “I do not understand.”

     The captain played with the blanket covering the bed. “Let’s just say I found out some stuff and figured out some more.” He met Spock’s gaze and tapped his temple. “And, see? No headache or vertigo this time. I’m pretty sure that was due to you still being affected by whatever happened with the mind-sifter. Turns out we were only hurting each other more by staying away.” He frowned, and amended, “I was hurting you by keeping you away.”

     “Jim, I... .” Spock was suddenly interrupted by the beep of the door. There was a pause, and then M’Benga and McCoy walked into the room. McCoy took in the situation with a quick once-over and exchanged a glance with M’Benga. The two doctors stopped a few steps beyond the door as the Vulcan visibly flinched back.

     “Alright, Spock?” Bones asked, surreptitiously wielding a scanner.

     “I am functional, but my telepathic sense is still somewhat unshielded,” Spock replied, standing fully.

     “Yup, figured that. You’re okay with Jim, though, right?” Spock and Jim exchanged a look that Jim hoped was encouraging from his end. McCoy continued, “Why don’t you let him escort you to your quarters. I’m not sure I can do anything else here. I’ll check in on you in a couple hours.”

     “That would be satisfactory, Doctor.” Spock rather warily walked towards the door, and Jim unfolded himself from the biobed to go to his side, sharing a look with M’Benga as he passed. It was a quick walk to Spock’s quarters, and they thankfully passed few crew members, but Jim could tell that the telepathic strain was weighing on his friend. He felt it himself as a growing weight in his mind, and by the time they reached the door to the cabin, Jim had grasped Spock’s upper arm, as much as to support as be supported. They entered, and Jim went immediately to sit down on the couch, feeling slightly dizzy. Spock wavered for a moment, but then moved to sit next to Jim, turning to face him.

     “Jim. Would you permit me to have your thoughts?”

     “Uh, yeah,” the captain replied. “Are you sure you’re okay to do that, though?”

     Spock bit his lower lip slightly, looking down at his hands. “I believe so. Your presence acts as an anchor for me. Contact with your mind is...calming.”

     Jim leaned forward. “I’m so sorry I asked you to shield from me. I didn’t know. I never wanted to hurt you.”

     Spock raised his eyes. “It is I who should apologize. I did not act to alleviate your fears and discomfort. Discussion of...intimacy is rarely done in my culture. I did not understand the strong need for mental and physical closeness, and, even now, find it difficult to express. I said before that I am drawn to you. This remains, but I cannot...I do not know how... .”

     Jim sensed a growing desperation through the bond, and reached out, clasping one of Spock’s hands and raising it to his face, feeling that delicate electric tingle where their skin touched. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the meld.

_It was warm, here, floating near the bottom of the lake, looking up at the shifting colors of the sky through the clear water. He was relaxed, and happy, and oh, so warm. He was naked, but it didn’t matter. There were no words, only sensations, and he was happy to drown in them. He turned and saw another floating beside him, and felt an irresistible pull. He reached out, seeing the other do the same as if in a mirror, and when they touched, it was joy._

_He touched the light, and was bathed in it. All the colors of the rainbow were in his mind and for the first time he was not afraid of losing control. It didn’t matter. He was loved._

_They were together, entwined, and he would be nowhere else. He was no longer alone, he no longer felt helpless, no longer struggled. He was loved._

 

 

     Jim opened his eyes reluctantly, blinking past tears. He was met with affectionate brown eyes that held a depth of emotion that he would not have believed possible, if he had not just experienced it. One of his hands was still clasped over Spock’s fingers lingering on his meld points, the other entwined with Spock’s other hand, held against the beat of Jim’s heart. Spock slowly lowered his fingers from Jim’s face, but didn’t shift his gaze. They stared at each other, and Jim reached out, gently holding the back of Spock’s neck and pulling until their lips met. The kiss was soft and innocent at first, but the intensity grew and ricocheted through the bond and Jim’s lips became more insistent, Spock’s mouth opening willingly under his. Their tongues came together and Spock made a soft sound in Jim’s mouth as Jim moved his hand up to bury it in Spock’s hair. The heat was growing, and Jim, feeling desire build between them, levered himself to straddle Spock’s lap, pressing his body against him and plundering his mouth. He felt the Vulcan arch up beneath him, and, gasping, broke the kiss to move his lips up Spock’s jaw to his ear. Freeing his hands, he pushed them under the hem of Spock’s tunic, feeling hard muscle under heated skin. He licked up the edge of the Vulcan’s ear and sucked gently but insistently on the pointed tip. He was exquisitely turned on, and needed more, grinding his hips down experimentally, and then he felt it. A frisson of fear wound through the bond, acting as ice water on Jim’s overheated mind. Startled, he pulled back. Spock’s eyes were huge, his mouth slightly open, and he was breathing hard.

     “What’s wrong? What happened?” Jim moved his hands from under Spock’s shirt and softly stroked his arms.

     “I...I am sorry, Jim. I have never experienced such...emotional intensity.” Spock’s voice was slightly ragged, and there was a greenish flush to his cheeks.

     “Well, me either, to be honest,” Jim replied humorously. “Was that what scared you?”

     The flush deepened on Spock’s cheekbones, and Jim felt shame and anxiety seep through the bond, quickly damped down. And there was something else. Jim focused into his own mind. Somehow, their contact had strengthened their connection. He could sense thoughts, he could sense... . “Oh, shit!” Jim exclaimed suddenly, realization dawning. “You’ve never...I assumed...oh, shit.”

     Spock looked away. “It is not customary for one to engage in intimate activities without a bond.”

     Jim inwardly slapped his own forehead. He had worried so much about offending Spock with his human physical desires, and now he was rushing into things with barely a thought. Nope, nope, nope, he wasn’t going to ruin this by being a horny asshole. Maybe he should start by climbing off the Vulcan’s lap.

     But to his surprise, Spock gripped his hips, keeping him from moving. “Jim, do not misunderstand, I...wish for this intimacy with you. I simply was unprepared for it. Your mind is quite vibrant.”

     Jim smiled, leaned forward, and placed a quick kiss on Spock’s mouth. “I’ve been called many things, but never ‘vibrant’. But, I’m still going to stop. I want this to be special, and we’re just hours away from probably another giant clusterfuck. Besides, you still need to meditate and rest. I kind of feel like a complete jerk for even starting this now.”

     Spock, sensing his resolve, allowed him to move away and stand up before he stood too, tugging at his tunic to straighten it. Jim took a breath and then tensed. “Hey, Spock, is it just me or is your control better already? And I could feel you. Your thoughts, briefly when we touched. Before, it was just hints of emotion.” He quirked his lips. “No offense.”

     Spock raised an eyebrow. “Contact with your mind is beneficial to me, however illogical that may be, given your forceful personality. And physical and mental contact appears to strengthen the bond.”

     Jim hummed and suddenly gave Spock a wicked grin. “I wonder what will happen when we step up the physical contact?”

     Spock’s slightly exaggerated exhale was mirrored by a warm wash of love and exasperation into Jim’s mind. He held out his hand, two fingers extended. “If you are to be a proper bondmate, Jim, you must learn appropriate displays of intimacy.” He mentally hinted at what Jim should do, and the captain reached his own hand out, fingers paired. When their hands touched, Jim gasped at the strong sensations that rippled down his arm. “This is the _ozh’esta_ , and is an acceptable form of public intimacy between bondmates.”

     “Feels good,” Jim murmured, captivated by the sight of their fingers together. “Too bad we still have to hide from everyone else. I’ll be sure to ‘public intimacy’ you as much as possible in front of Bones, though!”

     “Absolutely not.” But the corners of his mouth curled slightly, and Jim beamed at him.

     “Right. I’ll get out of here and let you get yourself back in order. Report to the bridge after McCoy checks you out?”

     Spock dropped his hand, instantly back in professional mode. “Yes, Captain.”

     Jim nodded smartly and, turning on his heel, left the cabin. His brain felt full, Spock’s mind whispering underneath his own like soothing water, and he was happy. The strained uncertainty and fear from before vanishing in the face of this new perspective. He knew he was loved back, and wanted, and that his own acceptance of the deep connection had been the key. Fighting it had been like fighting himself. As he walked to the turbolift, Jim suddenly realized that he was no longer chilled.

 

 


	11. Where You Go, I'll Go

Chapter Eleven: Where You Go, I’ll Go

 

 

     By the time the _Enterprise_ reached New Vulcan, Scotty was calling up to the bridge every fifteen minutes to express his displeasure with the sustained high warp speed. As they decelerated to make standard orbit, Jim tried to ignore the _Ach, finally, the crazy bastard_ that leaked over the comm channel. Spock stepped down to stand at his side as Uhura relayed that they were being hailed by a representative from the High Council. Jim ordered the message on-screen, and tried to force his concentration wholly at the task at hand, all too aware of the seductive pull of Spock’s mind and the pleasant, but still unfamiliar feeling of the unshielded bond.

     An elderly Vulcan woman appeared on the viewscreen. Jim remembered her as one of the elders that Spock had saved from his imploding planet. He straightened unconsciously in his chair under her relentless stare.

     “Captain Kirk. I am T’Pau of the High Council. We welcome you and your ship and thank you for your assistance in the rescue and transport of our citizens to us. I understand you believe our people here to be in danger. Your superiors were most insistent on our immediate preparedness for an attack. However, they were not forthcoming on particular information. I shall expect you to be more accommodating.”

     “Indeed, ma’am, I would be happy to discuss our information with you at your earliest convenience, if I and my first officer would be permitted to beam down.” Jim didn’t add that Command had already relayed to him that the Vulcans were balking at any meaningful security measures. The captain was fully prepared to take over security, but he knew he needed the Council’s approval and support for any sort of Starfleet involvement; New Vulcan’s official position on Starfleet was one of cautious observation, but the unofficial position was uncompromising disapproval.

     T’Pau considered him, and then inclined her head slightly. “You and your first officer will beam down immediately, Captain. I will forward appropriate coordinates.”

     “Thank you, ma’am.” Jim was about to add an additional diplomatic-sounding pleasantry, but the feed was abruptly cut.

     He turned just enough to make a face at Spock, who regarded him placidly. “Vulcans do not indulge in unnecessary discourse, sir.”

     “Don’t I know it,” Jim muttered. He hit the intercom on the arm of the command chair. “Kirk to Security. Mr. Toomey, I’m on my way down to the planet’s surface. I expect your teams to be ready to transport as soon as I signal you.”

     “Yes, Captain, we’ll be ready. Uh, sir? Respectfully, I wish you would re-consider taking an armed escort.”

     “Don’t worry, Toomey, I’ll have Mr. Spock with me,” Jim replied, shooting his first officer a smile, aware that the security department as a whole was acting almost like a fanclub after news of Spock’s defense of the captain got around.

     “Very good, sir. I believe that should cover it.”

     “Great. Kirk out.” Jim stood and walked forward to Sulu’s station. “Mr. Sulu, you have the conn. Continue discrete scans as we discussed and arrange for transport of the _Montmorency_ survivors to the surface. Keep in mind that second hostile vessel is still out there somewhere.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     Jim nodded once, giving Sulu a confident smile, and turned to head to the transporter room. “C’mon, Spock, let’s go.”

 

 

 

     As the transporter beam released him, Jim felt the blast of desert heat and winced at the too-bright sun, hanging at a low angle in the late-afternoon sky. He glanced around, noting that they had been given coordinates directly in front of a large building, presumably the government seat. Through the bond, he could feel Spock relax in the heat, though there was an underlying anxiety that the half-Vulcan was trying, and failing, to suppress. Jim tried to project back a reassurance that he didn’t completely feel.

     The doors in front of them opened, and a slender young woman approached, dressed in a flowing dark garment and veil. She offered the _ta’al._  “Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, I am T’Sil, special assistant to High Councilor T’Pau. Follow me.”

     The two officers followed closely behind as she entered the doors. The interior of the building was slightly more bearable, temperature-wise, and it took Jim’s eyes a moment to become used to the sudden dimness after the brilliance of the outdoors. They walked down a wide corridor and then turned into an understated office. Inside, waiting, was T’Pau, and, to Jim’s surprise, Sarek. Jim felt the thoughts and hidden emotions of his bondmate intensify, swirling within the bond before being relentlessly and purposefully restrained, and wished that they had had more time to become used to each other without the shielding. The bond was distracting, but Jim was not about to make the mistake of blocking it again.

     The two Vulcans in the room stood and offered the traditional greeting, which Spock returned. Jim merely bowed slightly, not wanting to seem awkward. As the door leading to the corridor closed behind a departing T’Sil, Jim focused his attention forward. “Ma’am, Ambassador, as you know, we are here to offer assistance with what we believe to be an imminent threat to this colony. Based on intelligence obtained by a member of a terrorist group known as _Ren shat’var_ , we have learned that this group has successfully infiltrated Starfleet intelligence, and even, possibly, caused Starfleet officers to betray their oaths. They are responsible for multiple acts of sabotage and aggression, including the attack on the _Montmorency_ , and apparently wish to establish a new order and undermine Federation authority. They may be working with defected Klingon scientists, and intelligence suggests they may be responsible for additional acts of violence within the Klingon Empire. We have reason to believe that they intend to strike this colony. The _Enterprise_ stands ready to assist in any way we can, from orbital scanning and defense, to ground security and patrols. I have prepared a data package for you summarizing the intelligence and information we have so far.” Jim paused, waiting.

     T’Pau exchanged a look with Sarek. “I shall be direct, Captain. We are followers of peaceful ideals and an open and logical society. We anticipate that any security measures you may wish to take will restrict and diminish that society. We have our own methods of dealing with violent intentions, and we ask that you allow us to maintain them.”

     Jim stepped forward, holding his hands out from his sides in a pleading gesture. “I understand, ma’am. It is not my, or Starfleet’s intention to abuse your hospitality or interfere with your society. However, based on my experience and knowledge, I believe this threat to be serious and I could not personally stand for it to see the Vulcan people damaged by violence once more. Please allow us, allow _me_ , to assist you.”

     T’Pau looked beyond him to Spock, who was standing impassively just behind and to the right of his captain. “You were there when Vulcan fell, Captain Kirk. Your first officer is the only one in Starfleet with Vulcan blood. I believe that your intentions are sincere and honorable. Allow me to consult again with the full Council. If I may offer you and your first officer accommodation for the night, we will speak again in the morning.”

     Jim inclined his head. “That is more than acceptable, ma’am, we appreciate your hospitality and look forward to speaking with you again.”

     As if on cue, the doors opened behind them and T’Sil appeared. “Captain, Commander,” she intoned.

     T’Pau offered the _ta’al_ again. “Live long and prosper, Captain. You may forward your data package to my assistant.”

     Jim bowed again and turned to leave, Spock a step behind him. They followed T’Sil out into the corridor and down towards the main doors. The young Vulcan woman did not speak until they were outside and standing next to a waiting automated aircar. “The aircar will bring you to Ambassador Sarek’s home, where you will be staying for the night. The data package the High Councilor mentioned can be forwarded to the same secure line on which you were contacted initially. I will send word when the High Councilor is prepared to speak to you again in the morning.”

     Jim considered the very human gesture of rolling his eyes in frustration over the delay in action, but realized they still had a chance to make their case, and was grateful to have not yet caused a diplomatic incident. He reached for his communicator. “Please excuse me for a moment while I relay our plans to my ship.” At T’Sil’s nod, he walked several steps away and contacted the _Enterprise_. It took a few minutes to describe the situation and to request the intelligence packet to be sent over the secure channel. Jim reiterated his order to have security teams standing by, and told Sulu to update Command on their status. Jim tried his best to maintain his civil tone, knowing that Vulcan ears were most likely picking everything up. Once he signed off, he smiled pleasantly, thanked T’Sil, and gestured Spock into the aircar, following behind.

     It was only after the aircar was moving that it dawned on Jim exactly where they were going. _Fuck_ , he thought. _Fuckfuckfuck._ Spock, picking up on his sudden mental distress, turned to look at him, his dark eyes questioning. Jim coughed. “Um, nothing, Spock, just, uh, well, we’re going to be staying at your father’s house and, you know. Your _father_. The last time he saw me, I was busy emotionally compromising you and being kind of a shit and now...well, now, I’m kind of his mental son-in-law or something, right?”

     Spock looked forward again. “I do not know about you being ‘a shit’, Jim, but if you are referring obliquely to the necessity of informing him of our bonding, thus resulting in a high probability of an uncomfortable situation, then you are correct.”

     Jim simply stared at him with his mouth open. “You just swore.”

     “Incorrect. I merely repeated your colorful metaphor in order to respond to your statement.”

     “Whatever, Spock, you just said a naughty, human word. How terribly imprecise of you.” Jim cast him a sidelong look and reached his hand out to lightly brush their fingers together. “It was kind of hot, though.”

     A hint of green suffused Spock’s cheekbones, and Jim turned his head fully to study his bondmate. The shielding over the bond had only been removed for a matter of hours, and Spock already looked better. Even after the traumatic forced meld, the pallor of his skin had improved, and the barely perceptible tremor in his hands had ceased. He was still too thin, and the small lines of tension still remained around his eyes and mouth, but Jim was hopeful. He felt the bond flare to life as he haphazardly stroked Spock’s hand, feeling love and warmth, and a hint of desire float into his mind. They were still in the middle of a dangerous situation, with angles still to be uncovered, but Jim knew all too well that nothing was guaranteed. After all they had been through, if he had the chance to touch his bondmate, he was damn well going to do it.

     The aircar pulled smoothly up to a larger dwelling on the outskirts of the settlement. Jim and Spock exited and walked up to the main door. As they approached, the door opened and an older Vulcan wearing dark-colored robes greeted them. “Welcome Spock cha’Sarek and Captain James Kirk. My name is Solan. Please enter.” He led them into a large, airy hallway, and gestured to a nearby sitting area, where two glasses of water and a plate of what looked like fruit waited on a table. “The Ambassador will arrive in twelve point five minutes. You may wait here and take refreshment.” Solan watched them move into the sitting area, and then turned and departed.

     Jim headed for the table, drinking most of his glass of water in several swallows. The lingering heat of the early evening was enough to have made him slightly dehydrated. He wasn’t sure about eating the fruit, though, considering his tendency toward allergic reactions. Spock remained standing, staring at a picture hung on one of the walls. The room was spacious, but curiously devoid of decoration. Only the single picture, in a simple frame, adorned the space. Jim put his glass down, sensing a sudden profound grief in his bondmate’s mind, and stepped to Spock’s side. The picture was black and white, and it was of a human woman with Spock’s large dark eyes. Jim felt a tinge of shock, recognizing that this must be Spock’s mother. He hesitated, not knowing what to say, and then simply reached out and took the Vulcan’s hand. Even with their new understanding, Jim half-expected Spock to pull away, but his friend surprised him by gripping his hand tightly. They remained there, hands clasped, side-by-side, for several minutes, until Spock abruptly let go and took a step away. Jim glanced at him curiously, but then heard the main door opening and realized Sarek must have arrived. Straightening his shoulders, Jim turned to meet him.

     Sarek’s expression was just this side of stern, and his presence here in his own home was more intimidating than any of the Starfleet Admirals in full dress uniform. His black eyes focused on his son, who inclined his head and greeted him, “Father.” The older Vulcan merely replied, “My son,” and shifted his piercing gaze to Jim. “Captain.”

     The captain inwardly drew on Spock’s mental presence through the bond, and smiled. “Ambassador. Thank you for your hospitality.”

     Sarek’s eyes did not waver. Jim, who had thought he had gotten used to Spock’s lack of blinking, suddenly realized that Sarek was in a whole other league. It took immense willpower for the young human to avoid shifting uncomfortably, but he forced himself to remain still, his smile pleasant, his face relaxed. After a moment, Sarek released him from his stare and gestured elegantly back out to the hallway. “If you would, Captain, Spock, the evening meal is prepared.”

     Jim glanced at Spock, whose eyes were still fixed on his father, and stepped forward. “That sounds wonderful. Spock?”

     “Yes, sir,” Spock replied. Jim could feel that his bondmate had retreated somewhat, the sense of his mind subdued and dim. But Spock readily fell into step behind his captain, who allowed Sarek to lead the way down the hall into an understated dining room.

     Dinner was largely a silent affair, in the Vulcan tradition. The only conversation was between Spock and Jim, when Spock pointed out two items of food that would be potentially problematic for Jim’s allergies. Jim considered eating them anyway. An emergency beam-out to sickbay would get him away from what he felt was a steadily deepening well of discomfort between father and son.

     After the meal, they retired back to the sitting area. The water and fruit had been replaced by hot tea and a plate of sweet crackers and for several minutes, both Vulcans sipped their tea in silence while Jim nibbled on a cracker, aware he was sitting almost on the edge of his seat. He pushed a feeling of exasperation along the bond,  _Well?_ He was pretty sure Spock couldn’t read his exact thoughts, but his bondmate got the message and placed his teacup onto the table in front of him and, back straight, regarded his father directly.

     “Father. I would like to inform you that I have bonded.”

     Jim’s eyes shot to Sarek, not expecting Spock to just blurt it out like that. Vulcans and their avoidance of unnecessary discourse. Right. Sarek’s face was completely expressionless, but his eyes flicked towards Jim.  _Fuck._

     “And with whom have you bonded?” Sarek’s tone of voice hinted that he knew exactly who it was.  _Double fuck._

     “James Kirk.” Jim felt the touch of defiance flit across the bond. He’d have to talk to Spock about that later.

     “Indeed.” Now Sarek’s face was like stone. He stood up abruptly. Jim was pretty sure this was a bad thing. “Captain, if you would excuse us, I would like to have words with my son in private.”

     Jim and Spock stood as well. Jim didn’t need to feel Spock’s reaction across the bond to know what to do. “My apologies, sir, but I would prefer to remain.” He stretched out his hand towards his bondmate, two fingers extended. He knew this might be taking it a bit far, but he wanted to demonstrate his commitment.

     Spock did not hesitate to reach back, and Jim couldn’t help smiling slightly at the gentle buzz that thrummed through his hand at the contact, mirrored by the sudden warmth suffusing his mind. A muscle twitched in Sarek’s jaw. His eyes shifted from Spock to Jim and back again, and when he spoke his voice was cold. “I see. My son, I disagreed with your decision to join Starfleet, to watch you turn your back on the culture and path that you had committed to follow. I questioned your choice to continue there after the destruction of our planet, abandoning the needs of your people. And now, I find I cannot accept this latest, selfish, action. To take as bondmate a human male, to deny a Vulcan woman the chance for a stable bond and to deny our people an additional chance for procreation in the face of extinction. You knew your duty, yet again, and have failed, yet again. How can you answer for this?”

     Jim was livid, but Spock replied calmly, his fingers never leaving Jim’s, “Once, you told me why you married Mother. I submit that I proceed from the same motivation.”

     Sarek raised his chin slightly, as if he had been struck. His voice was suddenly deathly quiet. “I am not inclined to continue in your company this evening. Solan will see you to your...room.” He turned and practically swept out, dark robes billowing.

     Jim finally released his fingers from Spock’s, collapsing in the nearest chair and stuffing a cracker in his mouth. “That went well,” he muttered, swallowing hard. He glanced up at Spock, who was still standing painfully straight, staring after his father. The Vulcan’s mind was a tempest, belying his placid exterior. Jim was still angry on behalf of his bondmate, but was also curious. “Spock,” he said gently, “why didn’t you explain how the bond happened? That you were saving my life?”

     Spock’s shoulders slumped slightly, and he turned his head towards Jim. “That is irrelevant, Jim. We are _t’hy’la_. My mind, my _katra_ , is drawn to you, and would be drawn to you in any case, even if I were bonded to another.”

     Jim offered him a wry half-smile, unable to stop himself from throwing in a sarcastic comment. “I guess I should be glad we got together before I had to contend with an angry Vulcan chick in addition to your father.”

     Spock stared at him, his expression softening. Jim knew that Spock could feel his affection through the bond, his anger on Spock’s behalf, his fierce loyalty to his friend. He could tell Spock was about to reply when Solan cleared his throat in the doorway. “Sirs. If you will accompany me, I will show you your quarters for the night.”

     They followed Solan through the house towards the back, and were shown a sleeping room with a single large bed and a washroom off to the side. Two Starfleet-issue duffels were placed neatly inside the door. Jim guessed that his yeoman had beamed them down after he had relayed their arrangements. After thanking Solan, Jim closed the door, making sure the privacy lock was engaged. He looked at Spock.

     “I am not in need of sleep at this time, Jim. I believe I will take the opportunity to meditate.”

     “Right, well, I’m going to see about a shower.”

     Jim made use of the sonic shower and brushed his teeth, changing into a standard Fleet-issue t-shirt and sweatpants. When he exited, the interior lights were dimmed, and he saw Spock sitting cross-legged against the far wall, wearing his uniform blacks, his hands placed on his knees, his eyes closed. Jim climbed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. After what seemed like hours, but was really only a few minutes, Jim sighed. “Spock. Can you hear me?”

     There was a pause, and then, “Yes, Jim.”

     Jim blinked at the ceiling. “Why did your father marry your mother?”

     The pause was longer this time, but Spock’s voice was gentle. “He loved her.” Jim didn’t need to reply. He closed his eyes and mentally caressed the bond in his head, feeling his bondmate do the same, and smiled, allowing sleep to come.

 

 


	12. It All Comes Together, And It All Falls Apart

Chapter Twelve: It All Comes Together, And It All Falls Apart

 

 

     Jim awoke to the blackness of the room and shifted, reaching up next to his pillow for his communicator to check the chrono. He had been out cold for six hours, which was not surprising considering he had been going non-stop since before the distress call from the _Montmorency_. Next to him, in the dark, he felt a familiar warmth, and a smile spread over his face. He could tell Spock was still sound asleep by the slow, rhythmic breathing, and the soft, lulled feeling of the bond. Jim wanted to reach over and wrap himself around the Vulcan’s body, but he resisted, knowing that simply being there next to Jim was a huge step for his friend.

     Instead, Jim simply lay there, close but not quite touching. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, but did not want to awaken Spock. Thoughts flew through his mind, his concern about the threatened attack on the colony, his frustration with Starfleet’s lethargic responses, his anxiety about his ship should the attack come from above. Spock had refined his previous algorithm that allowed targeting of the localized zones of sensor interference that had allowed the hostile vessels to inflict significant damage on the _Enterprise_ and ultimately destroy the _Montmorency_. However, Jim did not want to have to test it in action. Finally, Jim wondered about the _Ren shat’var_. He had been hoping T’Pau would have been able to provide some insights as to who they were, and when they had separated from mainstream Vulcan culture. They obviously had the means to support their shadow campaign, the muscle to enforce it, and the ideological zeal to bring it to a conclusion. But why now? Jim had the uneasy thought that perhaps the recently exposed cracks in Starfleet, combined with the violent loss of one of the Federation’s founding members, contributed to a profound weakness that was being seen as an opportunity. It was true as well in the Klingon Empire, who had lost almost their entire starfleet with Nero’s attack. He wondered how many other power-hungry groups and would-be emperors were biding their time. He wondered if the peaceful, exploratory mission of Starfleet was at an end.

     His musings were interrupted by a flare of awareness through the bond, and the body next to his stirred and turned over. “Jim. You are distressed.”

     Jim smiled at the unseen ceiling. “Keeping tabs on me even in your sleep, Mr. Spock?”

     A warm hand brushed across his where it lay next to him on the bed. Jim breathed in sharply at the surge of desire that swelled into his mind and felt himself become instantly aroused in response. There was a shift in the mattress, and he felt his bondmate move over him, sitting astride his hips. The sudden pressure against his groin was achingly good, but Jim forced himself not to move. He could still feel fear dancing beneath desire, and did not want to overwhelm his partner. Gently, Spock picked up one of Jim’s hands and began to caress it, the tingling electric feeling spreading over Jim’s fingers and down his arm. Jim sensed that the darkness of the room was allowing Spock to be bold, and he swallowed, willing his body to remain relaxed, but unable to prevent his breathing from shallowing and growing rapid. His fingers were raised higher, and Jim’s index finger was suddenly engulfed in a warm, wet heat.

     “Fuck!” he whispered, feeling sharp teeth scrape gently over the length of his finger as it was slowly pulled back. His hand was released, and he couldn’t help himself from allowing it to fall onto one of Spock’s legs, feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath the fabric of his pants. He had almost expected Spock to capture his other hand, but instead, he felt the Vulcan’s own hands slip under his shirt and ghost along his stomach. The touch was delicate, exploring, moving up along his abdomen to his rib cage, brushing over his nipples and returning down his sides. Jim was openly panting now, and couldn’t stop his hips from moving against the solid form above him. Slowly, Spock shifted his weight, slipping off Jim’s hips. Warm fingers stole under the waistband of his pants, tugging slightly, and Jim lifted up to allow his pants to slide down, releasing his erection into the air.

     Jim was expecting a further cautious exploration of his anatomy, perhaps a tentative touch. Instead, when the warmth of Spock’s mouth suddenly surrounded his cock, he had to bite his fist to keep from crying out in pleasure. This was better than any fantasy he ever dreamed up. His mind was practically buzzing with desire, both his own, and another’s. He could feel his pleasure reflecting back to Spock, and the lingering insecurity in the Vulcan’s mind was now replaced with a degree of certainty and anticipation. Every stroke, every movement of that mouth seemed to be directly taken from Jim’s own spontaneous desires. Jim moaned as he felt his climax building, and even with his fist pressed against his mouth, he couldn’t stop his incoherent muttering. “Yeah, yeah, shit, oh gods, I’m gonna come...oh... !” His orgasm ripped through him, and he couldn’t help arching up into his bondmate’s mouth, feeling his partner’s throat contracting around him as he swallowed.

     When Spock released his spent, sensitized organ, Jim reached out blindly for him, managing to grab a handful of shirt and pulling. Spock crawled carefully up along his body and Jim, feeling until he had both hands on Spock’s face, guided him in for a deep kiss. Jim tasted himself in his bondmate’s mouth and felt a thrill of guilty pleasure and possessiveness. “Jesus fucking Christ, Spock, what’s got into you?” he breathed, finally tearing his mouth away.

     The Vulcan’s voice was slightly rough. “I analyzed my response to you from before and realized that I was lacking in understanding of the emotional and physical reactions associated with orgasm. I sought to remedy the situation by initiating and observing the particular reactions as you experienced them. I trust it was satisfactory?”

     Jim realized his mouth was hanging open, and shut it with a snap. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yeah, it was very satisfactory. Um, Spock, not that I’m complaining or anything, but how did you know how to do all that?”

     Spock’s weight next to him shifted slightly, and a hint of guilt glided across the bond. “My telepathic sense is particularly sensitive to touch, Jim. I was able to read your wishes and adjust accordingly.”

     “Fucking telepathic sex,” Jim said, dryly. “I hadn’t even thought of that.” He arched his back and tugged his pants back up, considering what to do next. He could feel Spock’s eyes on him, even in the pitch dark. “So, Mr. Spock, would you consider your understanding of orgasm sufficient enough to attempt it yourself?” He could hear his bondmate’s soft intake of breath and reached out in the darkness, unerringly finding a pointed ear and caressing the tip. “Although, I am curious as to why you haven’t, uh, ‘independently researched’ before. Is it a Vulcan thing?”

     Spock’s voice was more than a little ragged as Jim pushed all manner of dirty thoughts and desires through their bond and skin-to-skin contact. “Vulcans have...complete control over their bodies’ systems, even to the heartbeat. Release via orgasm prior to a bond is considered...unnecessary.”

     “Hmmmm." Jim had pushed Spock onto his back against the pillows and was kissing his neck, breathing in his scent quite obviously, and allowing his hands to massage their way into his thick hair. “And what about after bonding?” he asked, his question muffled against Spock’s skin.

     “I...can now speculate that...uh...the physical and mental requirements of a...bond are better served... _Jim_...with such a release.”

     “Right.” Jim had managed to divest them both of their shirts and was thoroughly exploring Spock’s chest with his mouth while entwining their fingers together on either side of Spock’s body. He was impossibly turned on again, and was undulating his hips against the Vulcan’s, feeling a matching hardness there through the fabric. His bondmate’s body was intoxicating, the feeling of shared anticipation through the bond already almost overwhelming. Jim wanted desperately to sink himself into the warmth beneath him, but knew that would be too much. Instead, he pulled away just long enough to loosen Spock’s pants and tug them down. He touched first, curious, feeling a shaft much like his own, but with a second ridge. Intrigued, he decided to go with what he liked, and improvise from there. As he sank his mouth onto the Vulcan’s cock, he heard his bondmate moan, and felt narrow hips rise up, thrusting gently. Jim had expected things to go quickly, and was not disappointed. Barely a minute of concentrated effort and Jim felt the bond reverberate with pleasure. His eyes rolled in his head as he felt Spock’s orgasm, and swallowed automatically as his bondmate’s cock throbbed in his mouth. The wave of sensation was enough to stimulate Jim’s own release, and he finally pulled away to crawl up and rest his head on Spock’s stomach, feeling weak and satiated and completely sold on telepathic relations.

     They lay like that for a while, with the rapid thrum of Spock’s heartbeat in his ear and the soft murmur of the bond in his mind, and as Jim came back to himself, he opened his eyes to see the blush of daylight streaming through the large window at the side of the room. He tilted his head back and gazed up at his bondmate, and saw Spock watching him. “You are _vaksurik_ , Jim, beautiful.”

     Jim grinned. “You’re full of surprises,” he replied jokingly. He sobered, and looked deeply into Spock’s brown eyes. “All that I am, is yours.”

     He was rewarded by a minute smile and warm fingers sliding across his meld points and through his hair. “ _T’hy’la,_ ” Spock whispered.

 

 

 

     Both Spock and Jim were fully dressed and packed when Jim’s communicator beeped. “Kirk here,” Jim answered, flipping the unit open.

     “McCoy, here, Jim. I’ve got some bad news for you. The prisoner’s dead.”

     Jim and Spock exchanged a look. Jim mouthed an obscenity and raised the communicator. “I don’t understand, Bones. I thought you were keeping an eye on him.”

     McCoy’s reply had an undercurrent of anger. “Yeah, I was. But apparently he woke up early from the drugs I had him on to keep him under, and before I could get there he had stopped his own heart. No luck reviving him.”

     Jim shook his head. “Well, that’s just lovely.” He paused. “Alright, Bones. Keep digging up whatever you can find on him in whatever personnel records you’ve got on the _Montmorency_ passengers and from embarkation at Starbase Twenty. Kirk out.” Jim stared at the wall. “Fuck.” He switched channels on the communicator. “Kirk to bridge. Status.”

     “Sulu here, Captain. Ship’s status normal. All _Montmorency_ survivors have been transported to the local hospital and are in process of being cleared by planetside medical staff. Security reports continued readiness for ground deployment, and sensors are not picking up anything out of the ordinary on the ground or in the system.”

     “Good, Sulu. Keep scanning. We’re supposed to meet with the High Council again later this morning. Hopefully they’ll have taken a look at our data and will be more agreeable to our assistance. Any word from Command?”

     “Just an acknowledgment of your last status report, Captain.”

     “Fine. I’ll contact you when we know anything. Kirk out.”

     Jim had just flipped his communicator closed when there was a soft knock on the door. He crossed to open it and found Solan waiting.

     “Lady T’Pau has requested your presence at the Council building, Captain. May I offer you food or drink before you depart?”

     Jim glanced at Spock and shook his head at Solan. “No, thank you. I believe we’ll make our way over immediately.” He felt suddenly anxious and eager for action. Something was bothering him, hovering just at the edge of his thoughts. Something he had missed, or forgotten; it was frustrating.

     The aircar carried them back to the main governmental center, the early morning air already hot and dry, the red ground blushed pink with the low angle of the rising sun. Jim sat rather stiffly for most of the ride, flipping his communicator over and over in his hands. Next to him, Spock looked over, concern drifting across the bond. “Jim? Are you alright?”

     “Yeah. I just keep thinking we’ve missed something. Something isn’t adding up.”

     “This situation contains many ‘loose ends’, as humans say. There is likely to be much that is missing from any equation.”

     Jim shook his head. “Do Vulcans get premonitions, Spock?” At his first officer’s negative indication, Jim continued, “Well, humans do. We get ‘bad feelings’ about stuff and I’m getting a bad feeling now.” He saw Spock’s intense gaze from the corner of his eye and turned his head with a casual smile. “Illogical, right?”

     Spock raised an eyebrow. “With a situation as complex and tenuous as this, there is a high probability that some type of incident will occur. I do not believe that such an event will be conclusive evidence that you are able to predict the future.”

     “Quite right, Mr. Spock,” Jim replied, craning his head to look through the window as the large building came into view. “After all, I don’t think I ever would have been able to predict what happened last night.” He threw a wicked smile at his bondmate as the aircar smoothly came to a halt in front of a waiting T’Sil and watched a greenish flush color Spock’s cheekbones.

     Jim bounded out of the aircar, diverting T’Sil’s attention until Spock could regain his composure. She seemed less than impressed with him, and wasted no time in guiding them inside. They were led to a different room than before, this one much larger and with a long table dominating the area. Jim stepped to the end of the table, noting the presence of T’Pau, and Sarek, along with two other older Vulcans that he did not recognize. The Vulcans rose in unison as the two Starfleet officers entered, offering the _ta’al_. Jim gave a polite bow and Spock, again in his usual place behind and to the right of the captain, returned the traditional greeting.

     “Please sit down, Captain, Commander,” T’Pau intoned. Jim slid into the seat closest to him, gesturing for Spock to sit as well, the Vulcans joining them. The lady continued, “I would introduce High Council members Savoronik and S’Han.” The two unfamiliar Vulcans each nodded once.

     “Captain, we have reviewed your materials and have considered your offer of assistance. Our position has... .” Her voice was interrupted by the quiet beeping of Jim’s communicator.

     One of her eyebrows arched and Jim held up a hand. “My apologies, ma’am, but I must take this; my crew is under instructions not to interrupt unless in an emergency situation.” He didn’t wait for her acknowledgment before standing and stepping away from the table, flipping open his communicator. “Kirk here.”

     “Sulu here, Captain. We are picking up an energy signature on the westernmost boundary of the colony, gaining in strength. Sensors are unable to get a lock on it, or identify it due to a modulating interference pattern. It appears to be similar to the type encountered when we engaged the vessels that attacked the _Montmorency_ , sir.”

     Spock stood then and flipped open his own communicator. “Spock here, Mr. Sulu. Please immediately engage targeting program alpha-seven-two and route sensor readings through the tactical console.”

     “Yes, sir, computing now.”

     There was a pause, and then Sulu’s voice burst over the comm line, “Aye, sir, got it now! It is a small contact, sir, potentially a drone, moving fast towards the colony. Sensor readings indicate an increasing energy signal...I’d guess weaponry arming, sir!”

     Jim exchanged a look with Spock. “Can you target it, Sulu?”

     “Affirmative, Captain.”

     Jim turned to face the Vulcans, who had risen and were intently following the exchange. “Councilors, I require your permission to engage that craft.”

     T’Pau met the gaze of each of her colleagues in turn, and then looked at Jim. “You have our permission, Captain.”

     Jim raised his communicator. “Go ahead, Sulu. Fire on that target.”

     “Captain! The target has moved over inhabited areas. Firing on it now will send debris falling into civilian quarters.”

     “Dammit,” Jim hissed.

     He glanced at Spock, and the half-Vulcan stepped forward, raising his communicator again. “Mr. Sulu, switch phaser setting to one-quarter power. Engage tractor beams simultaneously to capture the target.”

     “Aye, sir. Sir! Sensors are reporting ground damage from that craft!”

     “Take it out now, Sulu!” Jim barked. He heard Sulu’s acknowledgement just as T’Sil burst into the room, speaking intently in Vulcan.

     Jim felt Spock jolt through the bond, and saw his bondmate draw his phaser and run to the door. The captain’s communicator suddenly went dead, and he heard two loud blasts echo through the building and the sound of weapons discharging. Spock stepped back and then hit the panel next to the door, sealing it.

     “Captain, the building is under attack. By my observation, at least ten heavily armed persons moving in coordinated pattern in this direction.”

     Jim slapped his communicator back on his belt and drew his own phaser. “Whoever they are, they knocked out communications.” He turned to the group of Vulcans now standing together against the near wall. “Is there another way out of here? A emergency exit, anything?”

     “Yes, Captain.” Sarek’s voice was perfectly calm. “There is a rear exit from this room to an inner hallway network, and access to the outside from the lower level. I shall guide you.” He headed for the back of the room.

     “Wait!” Jim darted ahead of him, and waved a hand at Spock, who nodded and spoke rapidly to the group in Vulcan, keeping his phaser pointed in the direction of the main door. Jim reached the rear exit and hit the release, stepping rapidly out into the corridor, phaser out and ready. “Clear,” he barked, and, as the others began to exit, he continued, “Stay behind me, against the wall, quickly!”

     There was the sound of a loud blast from the room they had just left, followed by the sharp rapport of phaser fire. “Go, go, go!” he called. “Ambassador-keep them moving!” They were halfway down the narrow corridor when from behind them Spock leaped into the hallway, turning to hit the external access panel and sealing the door before following behind the group, phaser held at the ready.

     There was another loud blast that shook the building, sending small shivers of dust from the ceiling. Jim ignored it, and followed Sarek’s direction onward. The hallway split into two directions, and Jim flattened himself against the wall, gesturing Sarek to continue. As Spock reached him, he nodded. “I’ll cover you. Go.” His bondmate met his eyes, but did not hesitate, hurrying forward to take point.

     The group had just disappeared down the hallway to the right when the door they had first emerged from blew outward with vicious force. Jim slid low and to the side and started firing as soon as he saw movement. Two figures went down, but more swarmed in and to the sides and Jim had to take cover behind the corner as radiating blasts impacted the walls around him. He paused, took a breath and, with a yell, swung around the corner with his phaser, firing as he moved. He saw the maw of a large energy weapon aiming directly for him and dove to the side just as it fired.

     The blast was terrific, and the weapon must have been set wrong, or fired into a weak point in the hallway’s structure, because the impact of the energy bolt caused the entire ceiling and supporting walls to crumble in a cascade of dirt and debris. Jim covered his head, screaming as part of a metal beam landed across his right leg.

     When the dust settled, Jim was lying on the floor in the middle of the narrow hallway along which the group of Vulcans had escaped, trapped beneath the heavy beam. The other two directions were effectively blocked off with debris. Jim struggled to push at the metal, but it wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t help a moan of pain, and was reaching for his phaser to try to cut through the metal when he heard footsteps and felt a sense of urgency and alarm through the bond. He barely registered his first officer’s presence before strong hands grasped the beam and Vulcan muscles strained, lifting it just enough for Jim to wriggle his leg out before letting it drop again with a dull clang. Dark eyes swept Jim’s body, evaluating, and Spock pulled off his blue uniform tunic, ripping it easily in half and wrapping one side around the rough gash in Jim’s thigh, tying it firmly to staunch the thick flow of blood. Jim gasped at the sudden pressure and felt a horrible grating as the leg moved. “It’s broken,” he hissed.

     There was a sudden muffled noise on the other side of the debris pile and Spock looked up, eyes narrowed, his face pale against his black t-shirt. “They are coming, Jim. We must go.” He stood, shoving Jim’s phaser into his belt and pulling Jim over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, careful to grasp his uninjured leg, and moved off rapidly down the corridor.

     As they moved, Jim felt familiar warmth in his mind surge and spread, dulling the sharp pain of broken bone and ripped flesh to mere background noise. He heard Spock’s voice, low and clipped. “We were unable to reach the lower level as one of the blasts resulted in structural instability and collapse of the inner stairwell. My father and the others are currently barricading themselves in a lecture hall towards the rear of the building. The _Enterprise_ should be aware of the situation and the communications blackout. There are faint sounds of armed engagement outside the building even now. We must give them time to act.”

     Jim grunted, feeling somewhat light-headed at the sudden easing of the intense pain. “Yeah, guess my bad feeling was right after all.” He let out a rough chuckle. “I don’t think I want to hang out with you anymore. I keep getting blown up.”

     Spock didn’t answer, but his hand tightened around Jim’s wrist and a ripple of protectiveness and anxiety passed along the bond. They reached a nondescript door at the end of yet another hallway a few seconds later and Spock briefly released Jim’s wrist to knock a short pattern on the door. It opened, and as they passed inside, Jim caught sight of T’Sil standing at the controls, eyes wide as she observed his condition. Spock called out a command in Vulcan, and carried Jim over to lean against an overturned desk. Jim watched as the others pushed furniture in front of the sealed door. Spock moved a large table to the middle of the room in front of Jim, tipping it over. He then called out to Sarek and the group of Vulcans moved back away from the door, walking one-by-one into a small closet beside the lecture screen at the rear of the room. T’Sil entered last, hesitating as she watched Spock crouch next to Jim, handing him his phaser and readying his own. A loud noise immediately outside shook the room, and T’Sil startled, finally moving into the closet and shutting the door behind her.

     Jim and Spock exchanged a look. “They are using hand-held sonic weaponry and grenades,” Spock murmured.

     “Keep your head down,” Jim replied. There was a scraping sound at the door and the whine of a building charge. Jim tensed and maneuvered his body into a better firing position. Spock gripped his phaser in both hands, his aim steady. Jim stared at the door. There was time for one more breath. “Spock... .”

     “ _Talukh nash-veh k’dular, t’hy’la_.”

 

 


	13. We're In It Now

Chapter Thirteen: We’re In It Now

 

 

     The blast rocked the room, blowing through the hastily constructed barricade and sending debris ricocheting through the air. Both officers started firing immediately, phaser beams lighting up the gaping hole in the doorway. There was shouting from the outside and loud bursts blew back at them. The hand-held sonic weapons released a focused compression beam that could, depending on the setting, blow through walls or simply render a target stunned. Jim guessed that they were set to mid-range by the way the blasts roared into the overturned furniture that was their only shield. A spray of plastisteel whistled by his ear, ripping scratches in his face. A chunk of the table blew apart. They were both firing rapidly when Jim heard the loud whine building again and a powerful blast blew past their position to break open the closet door where the others were hiding. Jim heard a cry from inside and couldn’t help glancing back. A slew of compression blasts flew at them. Spock was forced to drop his head and Jim’s phaser was knocked from his hand by flying fragments. Their cover crumbled in a wave of pounding, and Jim faced forward again just in time to see a dark figure step into the room and aim a weapon directly at him. There was no time for Jim to do anything but inhale sharply, and he heard the weapon discharge just as a solid form leaped in front of him.

     The wave sent Spock’s body back into Jim, and the captain collapsed backwards, striking his head sharply against the overturned desk behind him. In a daze of pain, his leg suddenly igniting again, Jim fumbled for his dropped phaser, fingers brushing the handle just as a booted foot descended on his wrist. The pressure increased, and Jim couldn’t help the scream that ripped itself from his throat as the bone cracked. Spock was unmoving, lying face-down across Jim’s legs, and Jim could hardly feel the bond anyway beyond the pain. Above him, a Vulcan with pale gray eyes stared at him impassively, dressed in black battle armor. He slowly raised his weapon again, aiming at Jim’s face. Jim gritted his teeth and grabbed at Spock’s shirt in his free hand, bracing himself for the inevitable shot.

     “ _Kroykah_!” shouted a female voice from the back of the room. “We surrender! No more bloodshed!”

     The Vulcan lowered his weapon and stepped off of Jim’s wrist, reaching over to pick up his and Spock’s phasers and throw them towards the front of the room. Jim could see several other Vulcans in battle gear emerging from the blown main door, weapons drawn, moving in practiced formation. The last one to enter was shorter than the others and was accompanied by a small woman in civilian robes. Jim’s breath caught. _T’Vai!_

     This shorter Vulcan was obviously the leader, and stepped forward confidently. “Get them out of there and against the side wall. Make sure they have no weapons.” One by one, the Councilors and Sarek emerged from the small backroom. T’Sil was not among them. The leader, addressing T’Pau, gestured towards Jim and Spock, still lying on the floor, “If you want your humans, you best pick them up now.”

     Jim felt Spock move slightly, struggling to push himself up. He moved his uninjured hand to his bondmate’s hair to calm him as Sarek and Savoronik appeared next to them. Sarek gently turned Spock over, easing him off Jim’s legs and allowing Savoronik to pick Jim up in his arms like a child. Savoronik carried Jim to the side wall with the others and set him down to lean against the hard surface, the human’s legs outstretched in front of him, cradling his bruised and rapidly swelling wrist in his lap. Jim watched as Sarek did the same with Spock, setting him down next to Jim. Spock leaned half on Jim and half against the wall, his long legs curled underneath him, and his arms folded loosely across his stomach. His face was an ashy gray color and green blood stained his lips and chin, leaking out of a corner of his mouth and his nose. His eyes were open, but dazed, and his breathing was raspy and strained. Jim could feel a muted quality to the bond and knew his bondmate was protecting him from his pain. He leaned gently into Spock, hoping to provide support, and looked up at Sarek, standing alongside the other Vulcans. “T’Sil?” he asked softly. Sarek shook his head once, staring straight ahead. Jim could see his hands shaking slightly at his sides.

     “Who are you? What do you want with us?” T’Pau asked, stepping forward, her expression as inscrutable as ever, no trace of emotion in her voice. “How are you to answer for the violence you have committed here today?”

     The shorter Vulcan leader actually smiled at that, baring his teeth in a terribly disconcerting way. “My name is S’Riren, and we are among the _Ren shat’var_. We are here today for a singular purpose: to demonstrate to the Federation that we now command the direction of our culture. We shall take the places of pacifist weaklings and bring Vulcan to where it should have been, at the forefront of the galaxy, raised to its proper place above physically and mentally weaker species.”

     Jim spoke, forcing S’Riren’s eyes on him, “I doubt you’ll get very far with the _Enterprise_ in orbit and Starfleet mobilized against you.”

     S’Riren tilted his head, studying the captain. “Ah, Captain Kirk. I am most pleased you and your first officer could be here. As embarrassed as I am over our unsuccessful attempts to be rid of both of you, I have to admit that you might serve some use after all.”

     Jim frowned. “Why target us?”

     “We were initially after only your half-human friend. He has become quite a symbol of the new age of IDIC, and we reasoned that ridding the universe of that symbol would only help our cause and, of course, hurt Starfleet in the process. Once we found out about your secret Vulcan bond, eliminating you as well seemed only...logical.”

     Jim flinched and glared, aware that all the High Councilors were now looking at him. S’Riren noticed and smiled. “Ah, you did not know, then? That the scion of the House of Surak has taken a human bondmate? And you would question why your people are in need of us.” The enemy leader continued placidly, “In any case, Captain, you’ll find that your ship is quite occupied at the moment. And they would scarcely wish to jeopardize your life were they able to interfere.”

     Jim scoffed, “I wouldn’t count on that.”

     S’Riren’s eyes were cold. “Perhaps you ought to, Captain.” He lifted his chin and paced in front of the gathered hostages. “The role of the High Council here is quite clear. We shall kill each of you in turn. Your _katra_ shall be transferred into the mind of my associate.” He gestured to T’Vai, who stood quietly with her head slightly bowed. “You are the few remaining elders of your culture, and with control of your _katra_ , your people will not dare stand against us, nor will suffer Starfleet to kill us. We will walk from this place without challenge, as the new leadership.”

     The subsequent silence in the room was horrifying. Jim didn’t quite understand what S’Riren was describing, but from the sudden pallor of the faces of the Vulcans standing against the wall, he could guess at its seriousness. S’Riren smiled again, and paused in his pacing, apparently enjoying the effect his words had on his captives. Jim’s mind whirled through the pain of his injuries. Even if the _Enterprise_ was being kept occupied, he had a strong belief in his crew that they would find a way to get to them, if only given time to act. He wondered if he could stall. “Hey!” he said loudly, ignoring the piercing pain that lanced through his head. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through completely? I mean, sure, you come out and are in charge of a colony, and I guess you still have a modified scout ship flying around somewhere, but what else? If there’s one thing I know about Starfleet, and the Federation, it’s that they aren’t really in the mood for another power-hungry madman to come popping out of the woodwork. Are you really putting all your chips in on this move?”

     S’Riren focused on him, his smile freezing in place. “I do not understand your human babbling.”

     Jim painted a smirk on his face. “I mean, this is your coming-out party. As soon as this goes down, everyone knows who you are. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

     S’Riren stared at him a moment and then nodded slowly. “You are attempting to waste time. A peculiar human tendency and failing. Captain, let me make this plain. You are in no position to interfere here. If you interrupt again, or attempt any other actions, I will drag your half-breed bondmate over here and kill him slowly in front of you.”

     Jim flinched and S’Riren made a derisive noise, gesturing two of the armed Vulcans waiting behind him towards the captives. “Start with the one on the end. Make sure it is impressed upon him that if he does not cooperate, his _katra_ will be forfeit to the winds.”

     The two guards stepped forward to S’Han, who stood impassively. They simply gripped him under his arms and dragged him towards the door to the room, T’Vai following, her eyes still downcast. S’Riren eyed the captives for a few seconds, assessing their reaction, and when none was forthcoming, grunted and waved to another of the guards, turning and walking after T’Vai. The remaining armed Vulcans stood in a line, weapons drawn, eyes fixed on the captives.

     Jim turned his head towards Spock, still leaning back heavily against the wall and braced against Jim’s shoulder. “Spock?” he whispered. The only blood he could see was still steadily seeping from his bondmate’s nose and mouth, dripping onto his shirt. Spock was shivering, and his breathing was more ragged, with a sight gurgling sound.

     “Spock? I need to know how bad it is. Can you talk?” Jim glanced back at the guards, but they didn’t react. Carefully and slowly, Jim moved his uninjured hand to touch Spock’s arm.

     At the touch, Spock turned his head to meet Jim’s gaze. “Compression wave...chest...crush injuries...difficulty breathing.”

     Jim inwardly cringed, but forced reassurance into his voice as he whispered back, “Okay. You’ll be alright. Just stay with me. Spock? Just hang on, okay?” Spock blinked but his eyes were unfocused. Jim could feel the raw edges of the bond, could sense his bondmate’s strength fading. He knew Spock was in bad shape, probably broken ribs, internal injuries and bleeding. He also knew he himself wasn’t much better. His leg injury had bled through the makeshift bandage Spock had applied and red human blood was leaking on the floor in a steadily widening pattern. He probably had a concussion from hitting his head, and the pain from the broken bones was excruciating.

     Sarek slowly sat down beside his son but did not touch him. Jim disregarded him, closing his eyes and focusing on pushing any energy he could through the narrowed bond to Spock and moving his hand along his bondmate’s arm to stroke his skin, which was worryingly cool. There was a noise from the front of the room, and Jim looked sharply up as S’Riren strode through the door with what looked like a comm unit in his hand and a triumphant expression on his face.

     The separatist leader stopped immediately in front of the captain. “Kirk! Your honorable Starfleet has demanded your release as a gesture of good faith. Apparently they are willing to see this as merely an internal political ‘rearrangement’.”

     “I cannot believe that,” Sarek stated firmly. Jim didn’t believe it either. No, this was something else, some kind of trap waiting to be sprung. He could feel it.

     S’Riren smirked at Sarek. “Perhaps the Federation grows weary of your pacifist drabble and obstructionism.” He gestured to Jim. “Come along, Captain. We will escort you to a suitable beam-out location.”

     Jim didn’t move. If this was a developing rescue attempt by the _Enterprise_ , he didn’t want to be separated from the others. He had to stall for time. “What about Spock? He needs immediate medical attention and he’s Fleet. Let him go instead.”

     At this, Spock made a garbled noise and shifted to look at Jim, whispering, “No, Jim.”

     S’Riren shook his head. “They only want you, Kirk, no substitutions. And I think I’ll keep him here just to make sure you don’t try anything. I am familiar with your tendency to act against orders.”

     Jim tightened his grip on Spock’s arm and lifted his chin defiantly. “No.”

     S’Riren made a sharp gesture with his hand. “Enough of your empty human gestures, Kirk.”

     Jim smiled then: a smile that said he had nothing to lose. “It is not a human gesture at all. I will not leave my _t’hy’la_.”

     There was a shocked gasp from several of the guards, and S’Riren looked like he had been slapped. “You presume to describe your pathetic bond in that way? You do not even know what that word means,” he hissed.

     “I do. And you should have known it already. Your own healer described the bond as such.”

     S’Riren turned sharply and snapped something in Vulcan to one of the guards, who left the room rapidly. “It is not possible,” the enemy leader muttered. “You are human.”

     The guard suddenly reappeared, leading a pale and shaken-looking T’Vai. “Why did you interrupt me?” she asked, her voice tremulous. “The transfer has just been completed. I require more time before taking another.”

     “Is it true?” S’Riren exclaimed angrily. “Are they _t’hy’la_?”

     T’Vai looked at the livid leader and then at Jim, who met her eyes directly. She twisted her lips and inhaled sharply before answering, “Yes.”

     S’Riren suddenly erupted into a litany of alien profanity. The guards were looking at each other with uncertainty in their eyes. The Vulcan with the gray eyes who had snapped Jim’s wrist was staring at the captain, his mouth slightly open. S’Riren grabbed T’Vai’s arm and shoved her in the direction of T’Pau. “This changes nothing! Proceed!”

     T’Vai gave a soft squawk as she was propelled forward. “I require more time! It was not as we expected it to be. I require meditation!”

     “We do not have time for that. Proceed!”

     The gray-eyed Vulcan stepped forward. “S’Riren, I will not be party to this any longer. I swore to protect the ancient rites, and I will not deny _t’hy’la_ , even if they are human.”

     “I expected nothing less from you, Siforit,” S’Riren spat. “Get out of my sight.” Siforit looked at Jim one more time and then turned and left the room.

     “Now, proceed!” S’Riren commanded, gesturing at T’Vai and T’Pau. One of the remaining guards moved forward and grasped T’Pau’s arm. The others were obviously rattled, shooting glances in the direction Siforit had gone and at each other. S’Riren, sensing the confusion building in front of him, pulled his weapon and aimed it at Spock. “Starfleet demanded nothing for this one, and I see now that to keep you both alive is to invite disruption. They will get you back, Captain, one way or another. I will not kill you myself, but will offer you the choice to follow your bondmate into death.” Jim lunged sideways in front of Spock, raising his arms to ward off the coming blast, and suddenly felt his stomach drop out from under him as the familiar feeling of dematerialization took hold. Jim’s last vision of the room was of S’Riren’s contorted face.

 

 

 

     Jim let out a sharp yell as he materialized on the _Enterprise’_ s transporter pad, immediately before collapsing forwards. Spock fell across his back, letting out a soft pained noise. The other Vulcans that were with them along the wall of the room were also in the chamber, T’Vai shrinking against the far wall with a whimper and the lone guard dropping to the floor amidst a barrage of stunning fire from an array of security personnel.

     “Bones!” cried the captain, knowing his friend would be there. Sure enough, the next instant the doctor was next to him on the platform, two nurses and Dr. M’Benga, now in uniform, next to him. McCoy swore as he assessed the situation. “Bones,” Jim repeated weakly, “help Spock.”

     “Relax, Jim. Just let me do my job, dammit.”

     M’Benga and one of the nurses pulled Spock off Jim and turned him onto his back. With only one look at the scanner readouts, M’Benga was yelling for a stretcher. Jim reached and managed to brush Spock’s fingers with his own before his bondmate’s limp body was lifted onto the stretcher and carried out the door. McCoy gestured and Jim felt himself lifted also before the sting of a hypo touched his neck and his vision started to blur and darkness finally washed in.

 

 


	14. I Told You So

Chapter Fourteen: I Told You So

 

 

     Jim awoke to the low lights of one of the isolation rooms in sickbay, the pain gone but the feeling of the bond silent and dark in his head. He gasped, his body suddenly shaking, deeply chilled, and he brought his hands up to his temples, letting out a moan. “No. No, no!”

     “Captain!” Strong, warm hands grasped his wrists gently. “Do not fear. Your bondmate is alive. Spock is in a healing trance.”

     Jim recognized Sarek’s voice, but couldn’t stop the sick feeling of being _alone_. “No,” he murmured desperately.

     The door to the room opened and he dimly heard McCoy’s gruff tones. “What the devil is going on? Jim? Jim, can you hear me?”

     Sarek released Jim’s wrists and straightened. “The Captain requires the presence of his bondmate. This is somewhat expected, doctor.”

     McCoy’s voice was suddenly much closer to the bed. “Oh, and I suppose you’re gonna be lecturing me on how to perform surgery next.”

     Jim couldn’t stop shaking. He was cold, and his mind felt icy and empty. “Please, Bones,” he muttered.

     “Goddammit. Okay, Jim, let me get a gurney.”

     “Allow me, doctor.” Jim felt himself being lifted and heard Bones muttering behind him. He was carried across the narrow hallway and into the adjacent isolation room, where he was gently lowered on his left side next to a warm, unmoving figure. Jim couldn’t help leaning over and resting his head against Spock’s shoulder, the contact immediately resulting in the cold feeling encompassing him to disappear. He reached down and entwined his fingers with Spock’s and the shaking slowly stopped. The bond was still silent, but the darkness was gone, and he could feel warmth again. Jim felt a blanket being wrapped around him and suddenly felt bone-deep exhaustion overwhelming him. He slipped back into sleep, listening to Spock’s soft breathing.

 

 

 

     Jim awoke again to the sight of his bondmate’s profile, still relaxed in the grip of the trance. Their hands were still clasped together under a thick pile of blankets. Jim’s mouth felt dry and his injured leg, now propped on what felt like a pillow, was stiff, but he was a hundred times better than before. He took a breath, and turned onto his back. He amusedly noticed that the biobed had been extended into a double as a soft beep from the front of the room signaled someone’s arrival.

     “Hey, kid.” McCoy’s drawl brought a smile to Jim’s face, and he shifted himself gingerly up higher on the pillow under his head to get a better look at his friend. Bones wore a casual smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His stance was stiff, his arms crossed fiercely in front of his chest.

     “Hey, Bones,” Jim replied. “How’s the ship? Will I live? How’s Spock?”

     The doctor stepped forward and eyed the diagnostic panels over the bed. “The ship’s fine. You lost an awful lot of blood but you’ll be fine, and I’m going to want you to stay off that leg for a couple days. Your Vulcan whatever had to have some pretty involved surgery to fix his chest up. You’ll be happy to know that I recently recruited a specialist in Vulcan medicine, though, and the hobgoblin’ll be fine once he wakes up from his voodoo trance.”

     Jim nodded, lightly stroking Spock’s hand under the covers. “M’Benga signed on with us, huh? I thought I needed to approve all crew decisions.”

     McCoy guffawed. “You’ve been busy getting bashed around again.” His hazel gaze turned flinty. “I swear to all that’s holy, Jim, if I don’t see the inside of yours or Spock’s bodies for the rest of my life I’ll die happy. What the fuck is it with you two, anyway?”

     Jim didn’t have a reply to that. He could see his friend’s concern, anger and fear, and met his eyes contritely. “I’m sorry, Bones.” He suddenly remembered something and peered around the room. “Where’s Sarek?”

     McCoy grunted, “Hmmph. That cold bastard left about twenty minutes ago to go to some emergency meeting at the colony. About time; he’s been lurking in here watching you two like he actually gave a damn or something.”

     Jim, still sore over Sarek’s treatment of Spock when they had divulged the bond, didn’t bother arguing. He would let Spock take the lead on dealing with the disapproving father situation. For now, he needed an update on his ship, and whatever had transpired to get them rescued. “Bones, what the fuck happened?”

     “I’m a doctor, not a damn logbook.”

     “Bones!” Jim said with exasperation. “I’d ask Sulu or Scotty, but then I’d have to answer for all this,” he said, gesturing with his chin to Spock next to him, “and I’m not sure I’m up to that right now.”

     The doctor sighed broadly and dramatically and pulled a chair over to Jim’s side of the bed.

 

 

 

     Jim listened intently as Bones took him through the events that transpired shipside since Sulu’s emergency call regarding the impending drone attack. Sulu had followed Spock’s instructions to knock out the drone without causing any further ground damage and it had worked. They had used the tractor beams to pull the drone up into space and completed destruction, allowing the pieces to burn up harmlessly in the atmosphere. By that time, they had become aware of two things, that communications with the captain had been deliberately knocked out, and that the appearance of another interference pattern at the edge of the solar system, rapidly inbound, indicated that the missing hostile vessel from the _Montmorency_ incident may be making its reappearance.

     Sulu had made the decision to break orbit and engage the vessel, sending off an emergency communication to Starfleet. The vessel had not returned hails or challenges and managed one firing pass at the _Enterprise_ before Spock’s improved targeting program resulted in the vessel’s dramatic and rapid destruction. The _Enterprise_ had returned to orbit, to reports of an ongoing ground assault of the Council building. However, sensors were being obscured by a version of the same interference pattern that was used on the enemy vessels. New Vulcan security forces were responding, but were being held back away from the building by automated fire. Sulu, restricted from interfering without express permission, sent another desperate message to Command while asking Uhura to try to punch through the interference to re-establish communications.

     A reply from Starfleet was pre-empted by the dramatic arrival of Admiral Hamilton aboard the brand-new destroyer-class battleship _U.S.S. Arredondo_. Hamilton had taken over command of the situation and, rapidly briefed by Sulu, ordered the _Enterprise_ to stand by on a wide-field low-power phaser beam over the Council building. Sulu was reluctant because of their ignorance of what was transpiring within the building, and the possibility of triggering further explosions. Uhura then came up with the idea that the interference field might act both ways, and that the aggressors within the building might not realize that their ship had been destroyed. Hamilton instructed her to mimic a call from the destroyed vessel, in the same older dialect as the group’s name originated. The call had miraculously gone through, with an associated localized breach in the interference field. The ground leader had done a lot of the talking, proclaiming victory and bragging that they had captured most of the High Council and two Starfleet officers. Uhura had stalled for time and Chekov had argued that he could attempt an emergency beam-out of anyone in the vicinity of the cleared comm signal.

     Hamilton had come up with the story of accepting the _Ren shat’var_ ’s coup in exchange for Kirk’s life, guessing that the self-assured leader might carry the comm unit within Kirk’s vicinity in order to gloat and arrange transport. When sensors picked up an unmistakable human life signature and a fleeting clear window, Chekov had activated transporters. After transport was confirmed, Sulu had been ordered to fire the low-power beam over the building. Unfortunately, when ground forces had then gone in, they found only a few bodies. S’Riren and the surviving members of his team had disappeared, perhaps beamed away once the hostages were rescued, suggesting the _Ren shat’var_ may have acquired advanced long-range transporter technology as well.

     “So, we’re back to square one,” Jim said.

     “More or less,” Bones replied. “The lady Vulcan that transported up with you and the Councilors pretty much went insane very shortly after she was apprehended. The Vulcans seemed to know why, but damn if they would tell us anything about it. They transported her down to the hospital in the colony for specialized treatment. The guard that we took down on the transporter pad never regained consciousness; his heart stopped and I couldn’t get it going again. I’m pretty sure it was suicide. Of course, Hamilton is treating this whole clusterfuck as his own personal victory tour. He’s acting like this, plus the destruction of the two vessels, has put an end to the group’s effectiveness, despite all the loose ends.”

     Jim raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. “Well, from what you said, he did do a pretty smooth job getting us out of there.”

     McCoy scoffed, stretching his legs out in front of him. “He’s no different from Marcus, if you ask me. You should see him preening in the command chair of that behemoth out there. And he’s been hounding the Vulcans nonstop about how lucky they were that Starfleet’s new _military_ angle was there to help them. He’s a slippery bastard.”

     “Try not to put that assessment in any official reports, Doctor,” Jim replied, with dry amusement. He was about to say something else when an alarm went off on the panel above him and he felt Spock’s hand jerk in his own. McCoy stood up immediately and walked to the comm unit, calling for M’Benga. Jim sat up fully, staring down at his bondmate. Spock’s face was no longer relaxed; he was wincing, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Bones?” Jim asked nervously.

     “C’mon, Jim, you’ve got to get down from there. He’s coming out of it. It’ll be alright, just keep back and let us do our job, okay?” McCoy grasped Jim’s arms and pulled him out of the bed with a no-nonsense grip, gently lowering him into the chair the doctor had just vacated. Jim shivered in the thin sickbay jumpsuit, feeling the bond widen and burn in his mind. The sensations were slippery, like Spock was grasping for something.

     M’Benga burst into the room and glanced at the panels before striding confidently over to Spock’s side. “Commander? Are you ready?”

     Jim was thoroughly confused, and his eyes widened as he heard Spock’s strained and rough-sounding reply. “Yesss.” The Vulcan’s breaths were now coming in harsh gasps, and Jim shot to his feet as M’Benga reached back and slapped his bondmate across the face, hard.

      “What the fuck?” Jim exclaimed, moving forward awkwardly. McCoy had anticipated this and ran to his side, grabbing him and keeping him from interfering.

     M’Benga landed three more hard slaps before Spock’s hand shot up and grasped the human’s wrist firmly. “That will be sufficient, doctor. Thank you.” Spock sat up on the bed, crossing his legs in front of him, back ridiculously straight. If it weren’t for his hair being mussed, and the slightly rumpled jumpsuit, he’d look perfectly normal.

McCoy released Jim, who leaned forward onto the side of the bed for support and simply stared at Spock. Their connection felt back to normal in his mind, and he was encouraged by the normal sharpness and intensity within his first officer’s dark eyes.

     “Captain. Are you well?” The Vulcan’s voice was slightly hoarse, but was his usual even monotone.

     “Uh, yeah, almost good as new.” Jim actually was beginning to feel a little dizzy, but didn’t want to admit it in front of Bones.

     The doctor appeared less than convinced. “The hell you are,” he muttered.

     Spock shifted, unfolding his legs and swinging them out of the bed. McCoy looked up furiously. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

     Spock stood up smoothly, straightening his jumpsuit and assuming his normal perfect posture. “I am going to the bridge, Doctor. You will find I am functional and I have a report to prepare.”

     McCoy shot a look at M’Benga, who simply shrugged and pointedly glanced at Spock, who was standing without a hint of a waver. “Well, you’re no help at all,” hissed the CMO.

     Jim put a hand on Bones’ shoulder. “How about a compromise. You release us to quarters and we promise to rest.”

     McCoy snorted and glanced from Jim to Spock. “Fine. Restricted to quarters. And I’m going to put an alert monitor on both of you. Any funny business, or elevated heart rate, or whatever, and both of you are back in here under my _personal_ supervision.”

     Jim smiled, and McCoy glared at him. “You’re going to use crutches, my friend. I meant it that you need to stay off that leg. And you!” he exclaimed, focusing on Spock. “You need to stay hydrated and rest. I don’t care if your Vulcan mumbo-jumbo healed you up. I still had my hands in your chest cavity not too long ago, and it’s an experience I would rather avoid again, thank you very much.”

     “We got it, Bones.”

     “Affirmative, Doctor.”

 

 

 

     A little over two hours later, Jim lay on his own bed in his quarters, propped up on several pillows, a PADD in his lap. He had managed to shower and to get dressed in loose pants and a t-shirt and was going over the ship’s logs and Sulu’s report of the incident. Spock had seen him into his cabin from sickbay, and once the door had shut behind them they had stood a moment simply looking at each other. Jim had felt awkward with the crutches, but had reached out gently and run his hand over the front of his bondmate’s chest. The musculature was smooth under the shirt and the rise and fall with the Vulcan’s breathing was steady. Jim had let his hand move down to feel the rapid susurration of the alien heartbeat. In return, Spock had reached up to run his paired index and middle fingers down the side of Jim’s face and along his jawline, finally brushing across his lips. The bond had pulsed between them, full of warmth and with their unspoken fears and shared sense of relief. Then, Spock had stepped back, turned, and left to go into his own cabin through the shared bathroom.

     Jim could sense calm now drifting through their connection, and assumed his bondmate was meditating. Jim looked across the room divider to his desk, still slightly shifted out of its usual position after S’Loren’s attack. He shuddered to think of what might have been. And what might yet be, despite the defeat of S’Riren. One of the first unofficial rules of command school was that ‘assumption is the mother of all fuck-ups’. Jim knew better than to assume that the threat of the _Ren shat’var_ was over.

     The door buzzer sounded unexpectedly, and Jim sat up in his bunk. “Come,” he called. The doors swished open and Jim’s eyes widened as Evan Hamilton stepped inside.

     “At ease,” the Admiral said with a smile as Jim made a move to rise. “I heard you’d just been released from sickbay and I wanted to come and see how you’re doing.”

     Jim smiled back. “Getting better, sir. And I’m pretty sure I have you to thank for it.”

     Hamilton chuckled. “Well, partially, I suppose. Your crew did good work.” He pulled a chair away from the desk. “May I sit?”

     “Of course, sir.” Jim shifted to a more comfortable sitting position and adjusted his sore leg.

     Hamilton settled in his chair and looked at Jim directly. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Captain. Handling this _Ren shat’var_ group is how I’m going to make the case to Command to push for a primary military re-structuring of Starfleet. Oh, sure, we’ll keep the science missions going, of course, but we’ll be putting ourselves in a much better position to take on whatever else can get thrown our way. Now, you and your crew have ended up on the front lines of this conflict, and you’ve performed admirably. You dealt with the mind-sifter interrogation, the _Montmorency_ attack, figured out how to penetrate that interference pattern, learned about the attack on New Vulcan, and held out with the hostages long enough for us to effect rescue. Well, in my opinion, you deserve quite the commendation in your file, and I will be pleased to give it to you personally.”

     Jim frowned. “Uh, thank you, sir, but a lot of that wasn’t me. As you know, Mr. Spock was responsible for... .”

     “Yes, yes,” interrupted the Admiral hastily. “Of course, Mr. Spock and your other officers will be receiving commendations for their actions as well.” He paused, his expression serious. “But I want to talk to you about the prospect of signing on with me in a position that will wield a significant amount of authority and will be at the forefront of the new age of Starfleet.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I plan to propose the development of a new battle group as the linchpin in a new offensive strategy. Three ships commanded by a Fleet Captain. I’d like you to consider the position.”

     Jim shifted again. “And I would report directly to you? What about Command?”

     “Yes,” responded Hamilton, looking at him intently. “You must understand, Captain, the way things are set up now, the current command structure would be most useless. A dozen admirals arguing over the best course of action in a new age where decisions must be made instantaneously and consistently. You’ve seen the results already of sluggish responses. Possible infiltration of enemy agents, Starfleet officers turned traitor, equipment sabotaged and classified information leaked, and practically nothing done about it! No leads, no suspects in custody from within our ranks. We’re still unaware of how you were set up when your shuttlecraft was attacked. We’re vulnerable! No, with a new, streamlined structure, we’d get results without all the red tape and interference.” The admiral’s voice had grown louder and more strident during his speech, and he pounded his fist into his hand to emphasize his last words.

     “Listen, Kirk, The _Ren shat’var_ may not be finished. Their primary strength was always in Beta quadrant, and I believe they will try to regroup there and continue their offensive. I’d like to have our first test be to clean shop there and get our hands on some of their fancy new equipment, including the mind-sifter and that interference shield. And as happy as I am that they were antagonizing the Klingons, I know the Empire won’t be content to fight such small fry in the future. One thing I agreed with Marcus on was that the Klingons represent a real and continuing threat. We still have to adapt to deal with it. And who knows what other threats are out there.”

     “Space still contains infinite unknowns. Sir.” Jim softly quoted one of Spock’s oft-repeated sayings.

     “Sure, yes.” The admiral narrowed his eyes slightly, nervous energy still vibrating through his frame.

     Jim hesitated, feeling the need to stall. “Respectfully, sir, could I have some time to think it over?”

     Hamilton’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Of course, Captain. Take some time. But not too much. I want to have my plan on the Federation Council’s desk and I want your support and involvement.” His smile grew slightly predatory. “I need your support, Kirk. And I think you’ll agree it would be in your best interests.”

     “I don’t understand, sir.” Jim’s brow was furrowed, an alarm bell sounding in his head.

     The admiral looked at Jim speculatively. “I’m going to be blunt. I’ve had my eye on you for some time. You’ve become quite a big deal rather quickly, haven’t you? Youngest starship captain ever, dealing with Nero and the shake-up over the Marcus affair. You managed to slip past that debacle with violating the Prime Directive. Now, you’re bonded to the son of the Vulcan Ambassador. I might think you were deliberately positioning yourself for big things in the future.”

     Jim stared at him, almost not believing his ears.

     Hamilton continued nonchalantly, the predatory smile turning into a leer. “However, you still have to prove that your Vulcan bond isn’t causing too much of a problem for your command. It would be a shame to lose everything over it, wouldn’t you think? Although,” the admiral stroked his chin thoughtfully, “it has proven to be somewhat of an effective tactical asset. It would work wonders if your bondmate was sent, say, on an undercover mission somewhere particularly hazardous.”

     Jim pushed himself to a standing position, feeling anger welling up inside of him. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

     Hamilton stood as well, facing him directly. “Just that, if I were you, Captain, I would seriously consider taking my offer. Good day.” With a smirk, he turned again to leave.

     “Wait!” Jim called. Hamilton stopped and faced the captain again, the smirk still on his face. _Fuck this._ Ignoring the dull ache in his leg, Jim strode up to the other man so that he was in his immediate space. Jim was slightly shorter than Hamilton, but, even barefoot and pale, the look on the younger man’s face sent the admiral involuntarily back a step.

     Jim’s voice was dangerously quiet. “I am going to pretend that I didn’t just hear you threaten my first officer and attempt to blackmail a Starfleet captain. I appreciate your help in getting us out of that building, but I am a little sick of having my ship and my people used as pawns in someone’s idea of a new world order. If you think I’m a political climber who will play ball to forward my own ambitions, you’ve got another thing coming. Sir.”

     Hamilton’s eye twitched and he flushed. “You’re way out of line, Captain.”

     “I don’t think so. You have two seconds to get out of my quarters and five minutes to get off my ship, Admiral.” Jim’s hands were balled into fists, his eyes flashing.

     Hamilton twitched again. “This isn’t finished, Kirk.” He spun around and left Jim’s cabin.

     As the door slid shut behind the admiral, Jim stalked to the comm unit on the wall and smacked the button. “Kirk to Security.”

     “Security, Lieutenant Yassin here, sir.”

     “Yassin, Admiral Hamilton has just left my quarters. See to it that he makes it to the transporter room and off my ship without delay.”

     “Uh, yes, sir. I’ll see to it personally. Yassin out.”

     The ache in Jim’s leg flared again as he switched off the comm. He sagged against the wall for support, and then, all the anger and bravado he had felt facing down Hamilton seeming to dissipate, replaced by exhaustion and a vague sense of fear. Jim slid down the wall and sat on the floor, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes. The sound of blood pumping in his ears nearly masked the soft swish of the bathroom door opening and shutting. A sudden warm pulse of the bond in his mind was accompanied by the feeling of another body settling down next to him against the wall.

     “How much of that did you hear?” Jim asked, not bothering to open his eyes.

     “Most of it. I apologize, Jim. I sensed your disquiet and was on my way to investigate.”

     Jim rubbed his hands vigorously over his face. “So he wants me to back him up in his little power trip, and he figures he’s got a pretty good threat to hold over my head to make sure I go along. Where the fuck do these guys come from? Is being a sadistic nutjob a prerequisite for becoming an admiral these days?”

     Spock’s voice was even. “I do not believe it is yet an official requirement.”

     Jim sensed the dry amusement through the bond and smiled weakly, finally turning his head to gaze at his friend. “I can’t believe he would try to use you against me.”

     The half-Vulcan’s eyes were facing forward, but Jim caught a raised brow. “On the contrary, during the debrief on Starbase Twenty-three, the admiral seemed most eager to list situations in which he perceived you or I to have experienced emotional compromise due to the other. It is therefore not surprising that he should choose to exploit that as a means to an end.”

     “He’s an asshole. And he’ll never get that plan of his past the Council.”

     “Even in the current climate, the odds of his success are slim. However, were the situation to change drastically, for example, if war were to break out with the Klingon Empire, he may find the Federation Council more sympathetic.”

     “Great,” Jim’s reply was brittle. “We know he likes to play dirty. Now he’s sailing around in a giant battleship looking for trouble.”

     Spock looked at him. “In any case, Jim, I do not believe that your command is in jeopardy. You have functioned admirably under trying circumstances, and your professional conduct, despite the presence of the bond, has been flawless.”

     Jim sighed, giving in to a sudden impulse to reach out and brush his fingers through Spock’s bangs, replying absently, “Yeah, I don’t know.” The Vulcan leaned into his touch, his hair soft and silky under Jim’s fingers. Jim moved his hand to trace a slanted brow and then to caress the pointed tip of one of Spock’s ears. “Will you stay with me? McCoy said we needed to rest, but he didn’t say exactly where.”

     Spock’s brown eyes were full of affection, mirroring the connection between them. “Of course, Jim.” He smoothly stood and reached out a hand to his bondmate. Jim grasped it and stood, shifting his grip so that their fingers were entwined. He felt the electric warmth of the connection shimmering along his hand and arm and smiled, the pain in his leg temporarily forgotten. They moved to the bed and Jim lay on his side, Spock moving to curl around him, an arm protectively wrapped around his waist. The warmth of the Vulcan’s body and the soothing hum of his thoughts through their contact helped to push thoughts of the admiral and of future dangers out of Jim’s mind and relax him into sleep.

 

 

 

     Spock was cleared for active duty the next day, and Jim was left to gripe about overzealous doctors alone in his quarters. McCoy had ignored his pleas for mercy, citing the need to let his leg heal completely and for him to fully regain his strength after losing so much blood. Jim suspected the good doctor was getting back at him after strolling into Jim’s quarters for a routine check on his patient and finding both members of the command team wrapped around each other, albeit fully clothed and dutifully resting. Jim had protested that they hadn’t even done anything, which was the truth. Spock was almost worse than Bones for being over-protective of Jim’s health.

     Jim tried to avoid pouting to himself as he sat at his desk, his leg propped up on his second chair, and a copy of Spock’s report open on his computer. The _Arredondo_ was still in orbit along with the _Enterprise_ around New Vulcan. Both ships were assisting with medical aid and repair efforts as well as ongoing security investigations and forensic analysis of the debris from the drone and the destroyed hostile vessel. The New Vulcan High Council had claimed the bodies of the _Ren shat’var_ and Jim was scheduled, pending McCoy’s approval, to attend a memorial for all of the Vulcan dead the next day. He was hoping to meet with T’Pau afterwards, and probably Sarek, too. If Jim had found Spock difficult to understand initially, the half-Vulcan’s father was a complete enigma. After sitting with Jim for hours in the isolation room after they were beamed onboard, he had stayed with both Jim and his son longer still after Jim was moved into Spock’s room. He had been forced to depart for the surface, and then had not returned; had not, as far as Jim knew, even attempted a further communication or left a message. Spock had not mentioned his father, and Jim wasn’t about to bring up the subject himself. Jim knew that it was likely that something had changed in Sarek’s opinion of their bonding, but felt that, considering the strong words spoken before, the ball was in the Ambassador’s court, so to speak.

     Admiral Hamilton had not contacted Jim again since angrily leaving the _Enterprise_ the day before. All collaborative actions between the ships were being coordinated through the _Arredondo’s_ first officer. Jim had confided in Bones about what Hamilton had offered, and how he had been threatened, and McCoy’s only response was, “I told you he was smarmy.” The captain didn’t know what Hamilton’s next move would be, but he was determined that the admiral keep his distance from his crew and his ship.

     Jim chewed a stylus as he read through the onscreen report. Spock wrote the way he spoke, precisely and elegantly. In a dark humor, Jim had to resist the urge to add in random exclamation points before sending it back to his first officer. He was imagining Spock’s raised eyebrow when he was startled by the sound of his intercom. “Uhura here, Captain. I am receiving a targeted comm burst from an unidentifiable source. It appears to be a message, and is encrypted for your voiceprint.”

     Jim punched the button. “You said the source was unidentifiable, Lieutenant?”

     “Yes, sir.” Uhura’s obvious frustration filtered through the line. “If I had to guess, I would say it was from a ship. The pattern indicates a slight disturbance along the gamma-two band that suggests the transmission source was moving at warp speed.”

     Jim sat up fully, moving his leg down from the other chair. “Pipe it down here, Uhura. And continue to analyze; see if you can narrow it down at all. And please ask Mr. Spock to join me here. I want another pair of eyes on this.”

     “Yes, sir. Switching. Commander Spock is on his way down, Captain.”

     Five minutes later, Spock entered Jim's quarters, his manner and appearance the height of professionalism. “Captain,” he acknowledged, approaching to stand where he could see the screen, hands held clasped behind his back.

     Jim smiled a greeting at him and gestured at the blinking prompt on the screen. “This is all too familiar; kind of like Keller’s mystery message. Would you get offended if I said this is giving me another funny feeling?”

     Spock looked unperturbed. “Offense is a human emotion, Captain.”

     “Of course.” Jim keyed in his computer to play the message, speaking his name when prompted by the voiceprint indicator. A vid message began, and Jim sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes widening. Coming into focus on the screen was the same gray-eyed Vulcan that had snapped his wrist as he stood over him in that blown out lecture hall on New Vulcan. Siforit, the Vulcan who had objected to S’Riren’s treatment of Jim and Spock on account of their _t’hy’la_ bond. Jim leaned forward intently.

     “Captain Kirk,” the message began, “my name is Siforit. My purpose in sending you this message is to convey necessary truths. My people were raised to believe that the Federation, led by humans, is weak, decadent, soulless. However, we were also raised to follow the ancient warrior code, and to respect its tenets.

     “I must inform you that S’Riren’s plan to appropriate the _katra_ of the remaining elders of New Vulcan was unnecessary and reckless. It was an action meant to settle a more personal score. S’Riren’s clan had warred with the House of Surak before we departed from Vulcan centuries ago. His motivation, both in initially targeting Spock cha’Sarek for death, in sending S’Loren to destroy you both, and in seeking to take over leadership of New Vulcan, was firmly rooted in foolish revenge, masked in a message of racial and cultural purity, initiated due to the recent vulnerability of our former culture. You will find that my people are not all so self-minded, nor so reckless.

     “I myself am a warrior, trained to fight. I shall continue our quest for honor and supremacy; it is our way. I do not believe, though, that this will be an easy venture. Your actions demonstrated that bravery and warrior ideals are not limited to ourselves. I accept your status as _t’hy’la_. I shall be eager, and honored, to meet you in future battles.”

     The message blinked off. Jim sat still a moment and then turned to his first officer. “What do you make of that?”

     Spock smoothly crossed his arms in front of his chest and blinked. “I would not underestimate him.”

     Jim snorted. “No, I wouldn’t at that. But the rest of it: a personal vendetta against your House, and his resolve to continue the fight. I assume that means that the outer sectors of Beta won’t be calming down any time soon. Command will be thrilled to hear that.” He cracked the knuckles in his left hand. “Of course, Hamilton will be excited. I bet he warps out right away, looking to score some points.”

     Spock took a breath and let it out before responding, “Even if he does, sir, I believe the admiral will find it difficult to locate the _Ren shat’var_. And they will not acquiese willingly. Their overall pattern hints to a long-term plan for disruption and the slow build-up of power and influence. It is only the more recent activities associated with you and I, and the plot on New Vulcan, that have shown evidence of precipitous action. Perhaps Siforit’s description of that plan was truthful.”

     “Right.” Jim nodded to himself. “Spock, see to it that a copy of the message is sent along directly to Command, using heavy encryption. And request permission to share it with the New Vulcan High Council. I have yet to hear about where the _Ren shat’var_ originated, although this allusion to an ancient feud gives us a good opening to break through that habitual Vulcan code of silence. And check in with Uhura about the message’s origination.”

     “Yes, sir. I assume that, if we are given permission to share the message, that you will want to meet with the High Council members tomorrow following the memorial?”

     "That’s the plan.” Jim grumbled, “If I can get McCoy to let me out of here.”

     Spock’s eyes lightened. “I shall see to your orders, sir. Would you object if I took the liberty of bringing you dinner tonight?”

     Jim grinned. “I would not object at all. Unless you bring me a salad. I hate salads.”

     “Duly noted, Captain.” Spock inclined his head slightly and turned to go. Jim watched him leave, feeling anticipation vibrating through the bond between them.

 

 

 

     At nineteen-hundred sharp, Jim heard his door buzzer sound and he called out the command to open the door. He had returned from sickbay about twenty minutes before, with McCoy’s reluctant go-ahead to return to duty the next morning. The plan was that he and his senior officers would attend the memorial on the surface, and then he and Spock would meet privately with members of the High Council. Command had gotten back to him almost immediately regarding Siforit’s message, giving him permission to request information from the Vulcans about the _Ren shat’var_ and their possible location, assumed to be somewhere in Beta. As Jim had suspected, Hamilton had recalled his people and warped the _Arredondo_ out of orbit within minutes of receiving Command’s reply, presumably under orders to find Siforit and his associates and to see to the continuing security situation in the outer sectors.

     Now, Jim stood, leaning slightly awkwardly against the side of his desk. His leg felt much better, especially since McCoy had given him a hypo of pain-killers, and he had spent the last twenty minutes taking a shower and eagerly anticipating having some time alone with his bondmate in the privacy and familiar surroundings of his own quarters. No shielding, no bio-alert monitors, no disapproving fathers down the hall, no traumatic recovery from forced melds, no asshole admirals, hopefully no more assassins.

     Spock entered carrying a covered tray of food, still dressed in his uniform. Jim smiled at him and watched as the Vulcan neatly arranged two place settings on the small coffee table in front of his couch and placed the food with graceful efficiency.

     “You could have been a waiter,” he quipped, stepping forward.

     “I believe I lack the necessary ‘people skills’, Jim,” answered Spock smoothly, quirking an eyebrow. Jim sensed the flicker of humor through the bond and couldn’t help himself from breaking out in laughter. The humor bloomed into warm affection as Spock mentally basked in Jim’s mirth. Outwardly, however, he maintained his quiet Vulcan dignity.

     When Jim finally regained his breath, he wiped a tear from the side of his eye and fondly regarded his bondmate. It seemed like so long since he’d laughed like that. Since before the mind-sifter. Not wanting to allow dark thoughts to spoil his evening, he gestured to the table. “So, what’d you bring me?”

     “I have selected vegetarian lasagna, with bread and steamed spinach.”

     Jim decided not to argue about the doubling up of vegetables on the plates. Whatever was there was steaming hot and smelled good, and he was starving. He sat down and eagerly attacked his food. Spock sat next to him and delicately picked at the lasagna. Jim was two huge bites in and had just shoved a roll in his mouth when he noticed that the Vulcan wasn’t eating much; instead, he seemed fascinated by watching Jim.

     The captain swallowed and wiped his mouth. “Aren’t you hungry?”

     “I am.”

     “Well, why aren’t you...oh.” If the dark, intense look in Spock’s eyes hadn’t given it away, the sudden unfurling of powerful desire through the bond would have. Jim felt suddenly light-headed and practically gulped, all thoughts of food forgotten as his body responded instantly, his mind struggling to keep up. “Jesus, Spock,” he whispered throatily. “Fuck.”

     “Yes.”

     Jim was immediately aware of the enormous erection that had suddenly sprung to life in his pants. He was also aware that his mouth was hanging open rather unattractively. Spock reached towards him and stroked two fingers down his face, leaving a trail of fire. _Shit._ He’d never felt this turned on from only a look and a touch. Their eyes locked, and Jim had to remember to breathe. Spock’s lips parted slightly and that was all it took. Jim was suddenly astride the Vulcan’s lap, hands buried in black, silky hair. Their mouths came together as the bond blazed through Jim’s mind, overtaking all his conscious thoughts. He pressed himself desperately against his bondmate, drowning in the intensity, in their desire. He was barely aware of Spock lifting him, barely aware of his legs wrapping around the Vulcan’s waist and being carried across the room. He couldn’t help the subtle undulation of his hips, or the soft noises that came out of his mouth. He couldn’t see, or hear, could only taste, and smell, and touch.

     He felt a sensation almost like flying and realized they had fallen onto the bed. He grasped gracelessly at their clothes, unwilling to break any contact, and finally felt Spock simply rip their shirts from their bodies. He wriggled out of his pants, and tugged Spock’s down, feeling them disappear somehow. And then, finally, they were entwined, skin-to-skin. Jim gasped, breaking the kiss and arching his neck, as the sensation of hot, smooth alien skin slid sensuously along his entire body. Spock took the opportunity to press his face against Jim’s neck, pressing soft, wet kisses along his jugular. Jim was still light-headed, euphoric, and he bent his head to nip at a pointed ear, moving his hips relentlessly against Spock’s. At the touch of his teeth, his bondmate let out a growl, and Jim felt sharp teeth bury themselves at the juncture of his shoulder and neck. He moaned at the pain, and then hissed as he felt Spock’s lips caress the mark. He leaned his head back, sensing the strength and power in the lean, hard body against his own and thrilling to it. A hand suddenly brushed the side of his face, slipping along the meld points. “Do it,” he whispered, and felt Spock’s mind suddenly entangled with his own.

     The meld was a light one. Jim still felt present in his own space, but could feel what Spock felt, could sense cool human skin and see brilliant blue eyes, felt Spock’s frantic desire, his senses on the very edge of his control. He could sense the vague feeling of fear again, the hidden anxiety of inadequacy, of failure. He sensed Spock’s confusion about to what to do next, how to deal with this overwhelming, unexpected need. He brushed against his bondmate’s deeply held love for him, and fierce attraction to his body and mind. The Vulcan word for beautiful kept repeating over and over, like a mantra.

     Jim forced himself to stay afloat, to keep from being lost in the powerful maelstrom of Spock’s mind; asserted all the control that he had left to guide his friend. He tried to project what he wanted Spock to do. The Vulcan lifted his head, huge brown eyes seeking Jim’s, and along with the burning desire, the need for completion, Jim saw the fear there, too. _It’s alright_ , Jim sent, hoping Spock could read it.  _I want you_. _You’re doing fine._

     The euphoric feeling spiked as Jim felt himself laid back onto the bed, and Spock moved down his body to engulf his penis with his mouth. The meld broke, but the bond transmitted sensations almost as effectively, and it wasn’t long before Jim came into Spock’s mouth with a cry. He felt his pleasure as a warm blanket, suffusing the shared mental space of their bond. He almost didn’t notice Spock lean over him to his bedside table and pull something out of the drawer. He did feel fingers back on his meld points, and now, slick inside his body. He could feel the raw pleasure Spock felt as his sensitive fingers moved within his mate, and Jim realized he was becoming aroused again. Every move Spock made came with a mental question:  _Are you alright? Is this alright?_ And every time Jim answered a desperate _Yes!_ When he felt his legs pushed back and Spock slowly enter him, he felt a gentle stretch and light burn, but then only fullness, and, as his partner moved, a sharp burst of pleasure. _Yes, there_ , he sent. He felt everything. Every move he made, every sensation Spock felt, each touch of skin, each brush of fingers, the soft press of their mouths together. When he felt Spock’s orgasm building, he heard his bondmate’s anxious sob, and pushed his mind further into the meld to wrap around Spock’s protectively. _This is okay._ When Spock came, Jim came again, and they clung together, feeling their bodies reverberate together and their minds burn into each other. Jim sank into their shared mental space, leaving consciousness behind, and fell into peaceful oblivion.

 

 


	15. Boldly

Chapter Fifteen: Boldly

 

 

     Jim awoke to a persistent growl in his stomach, a subtle ache in his leg and wrist, and a more pronounced ache in his ass. He rolled over slightly to check the chrono, and felt his bedmate’s arms tighten instinctively around him. Jim smiled to himself, settling back down into the warmth of Spock’s embrace. It was still the middle of ship’s night, and he was content to stay put, even if it meant he’d have to eat an extra helping of breakfast in a few hours. He lay there in the darkness, listening to the soft hum of the ship around him and thought back to their lovemaking. He had never passed out from sex before, but had, admittedly, never been telepathically connected to his partner before. The shared orgasm had blanked out Jim’s senses, and when he had eventually come around, he was being gently cleaned with a warm, damp cloth and a pair of brown eyes was staring at him with a mixture of amazement and satisfaction. Jim had been too exhausted and blissed out to move and had simply rolled over into Spock’s body, pressing his face into his shoulder and drifting to sleep.

     There was something different about the bond now. Even with Spock sleeping peacefully next to him, Jim could feel the intensity of the connection being deeper somehow, stronger. He closed his eyes and let himself study it, feel it within his mind. It was bright, warm, welcoming. A place of solace, of acceptance. He wondered at it. From somewhere in his consciousness, he questioned if he was ready for it. He felt a chill as he remembered recent threats, from S’Loren’s apparent intentions to use the bond to brutally damage them, to Hamilton’s mention of using the bond as a tactical device, to his horror as S’Riren turned the weapon on Spock. He knew there would inevitably be situations where he would have to order Spock into harm’s way. Situations where he himself would be endangered. Could Spock carry on, with the bond severed? Could he? Now that he knew the strange exhilarating sensation of sharing his mind and body, even his soul, with someone who seemed to be his match in every way, could he survive without it? He thought of Spock’s older counterpart, even now living below them on New Vulcan, whom he might see again at the memorial. He remembered the sickening, mind-bending grief and pain that hovered in his mind over the loss of Vulcan, and below that, an equally deep, equally astonishing grief over another loss. He’d never put the pieces together until now. What might be if, when, one of them was lost to the other. He remembered S’Riren’s final words to him:  _offer you the choice to follow your bondmate into death_. He was suddenly overcome by a wave of gut-wrenching emotion. _This_ , he thought, _this is what I should have feared_. Not being rejected, or inner demons known, or to be tied down, but to have, and then to lose. He struggled free of Spock’s arms, of the bedding, and stumbled towards the bathroom, breathing heavily.

     Once in the bathroom, he leaned over the sink, splashing cold water on his face and catching his breath. He dried himself with a towel and stared into the mirror. _What are we doing? Can I do this? Are humans even meant for this?_ He startled as he felt an answer form in his mind, coalescing out of the bond with the unmistakable touch of his mate’s mental voice.  _We are t’hy’la, Jim; it is our path._

     Jim dropped the towel on the counter and keyed the door open, stepping through to see Spock sitting upright in the bed, his legs crossed under the blankets in front of him. The captain furrowed his brow and thought as loudly as he could, _Can you hear me?_ He stared as Spock flinched slightly and shook his head. “There is no need to shout, Jim.”

     “Holy fuck!” Jim exclaimed. “You can hear my thoughts? Across the room? And I can hear yours?”

     “Indeed,” Spock said. “This is fascinating. Even fully Vulcan bondmates rarely exhibit this ability.”

     Jim moved forward and plunked himself down on the end of the bed. “Will you be able to do this all the time, or what? Because a lot of stuff goes on in here that I, uh, well, _I_ feel uncomfortable about and it’s my head.”

     Spock was silent a moment before replying, “I believe that my normal shielding will prevent transfer with the exception of thoughts directly specifically at me, or in instances of heightened emotional intensity.”

     Jim raised his eyebrows. “I guess this means you’ll be able to get me out of a lot more shit situations on backwards planets after my communicator inevitably gets lost or destroyed.”

     Spock shifted his shoulders. “Doctor McCoy may regard that as the lone redeeming feature of your association with me.”

     At that, Jim had to laugh, throwing himself face-down on the bedding in front of Spock, the panic and uncertainty that had sent him running into the bathroom in the first place fading in the warm gaze of his bondmate.

 

 

 

     The memorial took place in the large courtyard next to the main Council building where the attack had occurred. Jim stood at attention in full dress uniform, flanked by his senior officers and surrounded by hundreds of silent Vulcans, watching as T’Pau spoke of the dead, both the attackers and the victims. Her words were brief, and delivered with her usual unemotional tone. Her expression, and those of the Vulcans around her, was impassive, seemingly unaffected. However, Jim was able to sense something he didn’t expect through his bond with Spock. A subtle weaving of consciousness, extending to all Vulcans present, a shared grief for lives lost. T’Pau’s remarks were followed by a period of silence, and then a gong sounded, and the Vulcans slowly left, still in silence, returning to daily life.

 _That was incredible_ , Jim sent to his bondmate, along with a feeling of wonder. He sensed Spock’s acknowledgement, and turned to walk back towards the building when he heard a vaguely familiar voice. “My old friend.”

     Jim faced quickly back, a smile on his face, to see Spock’s counterpart standing in front of him. His first officer’s eyes flicked back and forth between them before he spoke, “I shall take my leave, Captain. I will see you at the meeting.” Jim watched his Spock walk purposefully away.

     “I see that you are busy; I merely wish to convey greetings. It is well to see you, after your thankfully temporary demise,” Spock said, studying Jim’s face.

     Jim’s smile widened. “It’s good to see you, too.” He remembered the terrible grief beneath the solid exterior, and his newfound understanding of it. He glanced around, noting that they were now alone in the courtyard. “I wanted you to know something; I think you won’t be too surprised by it.” He paused, gathering himself, and met the old man’s eyes again. “Spock and I are bonded.”

     As he had suspected, there was no surprise, only a faint hint of approval and distant pain. “Of course,” Spock said softly, “you are _t’hy’la_.”

     “I wanted you to know,” Jim repeated. He shifted his weight and looked at the reddish soil beneath his feet. “Can I ask you a question?”

     “Of course.”

     “How did you survive it?”

     Jim didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t need to. Spock closed his eyes briefly before meeting Jim’s gaze with a familiar intensity. “There is no end to a _t’hy’la_ bond, Jim, only increased distance. There is pain inherent in that distance, but what is, is. I survive because I know my _katra_ will never be fully separated from his, and will find its way back to him again.”

 

 

 

     Jim made his way to the meeting with the elders in contemplative silence. His Spock had met him just inside the entrance of a small building to the right of the main governmental seat, where the attack had taken place. They walked side-by-side, easily matching each other’s strides. Spock did not press him for his thoughts, knowing that Jim would talk to him when he was ready. An aide was waiting down the main hallway to show them in to a side room, and Jim thought sharply of T’Sil. Waiting in the room was T’Pau and Sarek. Both stood when Jim and Spock entered, formally greeting them again with the _ta’al_. In a moment of boldness, Jim returned it; due to all that had happened in the last few days, he felt that he’d earned the right to at least attempt it. The bond filled with Spock’s approval.  _Very good, Jim_. The captain barely avoided a smile.

     Jim waited until all were settled in their seats before sharing with the Vulcans the contents of the recording Siforit had sent to him. If T’Pau and Sarek were surprised at the personal vendetta that had existed against their House, they did not show it. Rather, the new information apparently provided an important clue to who the _Ren shat’var_ were. T’Pau informed Jim that since Vulcans had discovered spaceflight and the existence of other worlds more than three-hundred years before, there had been several exoduses of small parts of the population who had been dissatisfied with the accepted cultural precepts. Most of these Vulcans had eventually returned home, but a few had not. Two-hundred and fifty years ago a small group of about seventy-five had ventured off-planet. The reason had been that they were frustrated with the non-interference policy that Vulcan had cultivated in dealing with alien cultures, the prelude to the Federation’s own Prime Directive. Among them were several members of a rival House with a long-standing grievances with the House of Surak. T’Pau deduced that there was a high probability they had settled somewhere in the Beta quadrant, and had cultivated a warrior lifestyle and culture. The meeting concluded with discussions of the continuing rebuilding effort, and relief status. Command had given Jim some leeway to allow him to assist with the recovery efforts, but he knew they would not be able to remain for more than a week, at the most.

     Finally, T’Pau took her leave, with a significant look back at Sarek. Jim and Spock stood as she swept out, and as the door slid closed behind her, Jim turned slightly reluctantly back to face Sarek. He still had lingering anger towards Sarek’s treatment of Spock, but he knew the situation with the _Ren shat’var_ had shaken the older Vulcan. To the captain’s surprise, Sarek spoke first, “Due to a lack of important information, my initial conclusions regarding your motives for bonding were incorrect. If you are _t’hy’la_ , your bonding is quite logical. I accept James Kirk as a member of my House.”

     Sensing Jim’s deference, Spock inclined his head. “Thank you, Father.”

     Jim glanced from one to the other, the extending silence indicating that this simple exchange would be all that they would allow. He took a breath, feeling that he was stepping in where he didn’t belong, but wanting to understand. “Ambassador, you stayed with us, with me, after surgery.” Jim trailed off, realizing he hadn’t really asked a question, and that he didn’t know how to frame it in the midst of the distant formality that surrounded father and son.

     He felt Spock stiffen slightly next to him, and Sarek looked directly at Jim. “I stayed to ensure your recovery, in the case that human physicians did not recognize the subtleties of a new bond. Once you joined my son, and were sleeping without distress, I saw no further need for my presence there.”

     Jim nodded. “Okay, just, uh, checking.” He noticed that Sarek had not actually come out and said he approved of the bond, or of Jim, or of Spock for that matter. After another uncomfortable silence, Sarek tilted his head, looking at Jim like he was a particularly interesting scientific specimen. Jim couldn’t help sending, _What the fuck is it with you guys anyway? And if you say that you are avoiding unnecessary discourse, I’m going to fucking throw myself on the floor. Kicking and screaming._

     Beside him, the corner of Spock’s mouth twitched.  _Behave yourself, Jim_. Out loud, he said, “We shall return to the ship, Father, unless there is anything further you require?”

     Sarek stood, and both officers followed. “Negative,” he replied. “I shall be returning to Earth within the month. You may arrange a meeting during your next leave there, if you wish. I shall expect you to bring your bondmate.”

     “Yes, Father. Live long and prosper.” Spock raised the _ta’al_ , with Jim following his lead. Sarek returned the salute, and Jim and Spock left the room. Jim walked as fast as was seemly down the empty corridor towards the main door, with Spock lengthening his strides to catch up. _Kicking and screaming_ , Jim sent.  _Holy fuck_.

     Outside, the soft heat of sunrise had increased to a swell of harsh desert fever. Jim spontaneously broke out into a sweat, and squinted in the sudden glare as Spock emerged from the building behind him. “You ready to go home?” Jim asked, suddenly anxious to be back on familiar territory. At Spock’s nod, the captain flipped open his communicator and called for a beam-up, only relaxing as he felt the tingle of dematerialization.

 

 

 

     Two weeks later, Jim sat on a large, flat rock at the edge of a beach, basking in the sun. Several yards away, down on the sand, Spock was coordinating survey efforts with a few of the landing party teams. They had been orbiting Sigma Canopus Prime for three days, and Jim had finally gotten tired of sitting cooped up in the command chair while the Science Department got to run free on gorgeous beaches and fern forests and even polar ice caps. So, he had pulled rank and decided to observe. Far out near the horizon, a specially-equipped shuttlecraft was hovering over the water, collecting data. Behind him, in the shady expanse of tall vegetation that abutted the beach, Jim could hear the excited chatter of two ensigns assigned to the Botany section. With nothing to do but feel the warmth of the sun, remarkably similar to Earth’s Sol, on his skin and subtly watch his bondmate from behind his sunglasses, Jim let his mind wander.

     The past two weeks had seemed like a blur. Upon departing New Vulcan, the ship had moved back into a more normal routine. The extended period of travel to Sigma Canopus via Starbase Twenty allowed for the crew to prepare for the planetary survey and to complete remaining repairs from the attacks the _Enterprise_ had suffered recently. Spock had been very busy in his dual role as First and Science Officer, but had deliberately allowed time in the evenings to spend with Jim, and continued to run with him most mornings. They were both becoming used to their new relationship, and engaged in what Spock referred to as “physical and mental intimacy” as much as possible. Even though some nights they were forced to be apart, as Spock had to depart for the labs, Jim could tell that their new routine was working well. His strange chilled feeling had gone away once the extra shielding was removed, and his excess nervous energy seemed to slowly ebb, leaving him able to relax. He no longer had the vivid, disturbing dreams, but continued to visualize the warm lake when they melded. Spock’s improvement was more dramatic. As he recovered completely from his most recent injuries and from the toll that shielding the bond had taken, the overly thin look disappeared from his body, the tension lines in his face smoothed, and he regained his normal pallor. Jim was happy to see him eating again. The only possible negative had been Spock’s increased need for meditation, due to Jim’s continual emotional presence in his mind. And the fact that Jim had caught him using a particularly colorful metaphor to describe a line of code and had crowed about it, in private, of course, for a week.

     The need for secrecy was still there, however, and working out together in the morning in addition to the occasional lunch in the mess was the only time they allowed themselves to be seen together in their free time. They entered and left from their own respective quarters, moving between the shared bathroom away from the eyes of the crew. Jim attempted to curb his need to touch his bondmate, and also to tone down the mental communication on-shift. He also tried to maintain his usual demeanor from before the bond had been formed, which, as it turned out, had involved some touching, a lot of flirting, and a bit of good-natured Spock-ribbing with Bones. If anyone noticed a change in how the command team interacted, they did not choose to mention it. Except Nyota, of course.

     Five days into their trek out to Starbase Twenty, where Spock was scheduled to summarize and share his probability analysis program to allow for penetration of the interference “cloak” being used by the _Ren shat’var_ , Jim was heading to his quarters after shift when Uhura caught up with him five feet from his door.

     “Captain!” she had called, jogging down the hallway, her ponytail swinging. “Could I have a word?”

     Jim had known that Spock was headed for the labs for a few hours, and wasn’t supposed to meet Bones for dinner for forty-five minutes, so he threw her a smile and gestured grandly towards his door. “Step into my parlor.”

     She had rolled her eyes and waited for him to key open the lock before stepping through. Jim followed her, surreptitiously glancing around the room for anything incriminating. Aside from the fact that the space was irregularly clean, he figured he was okay. “Have a seat,” he had offered, waving to the couch. “Can I buy you a drink?”

     She had settled herself and shook her head. “No, thanks, I had three cups of coffee on-shift.” She watched him pull a chair over and sit down across the coffee table, playing with one of her earrings.

     Jim had raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to speak. The silence stretched for a couple minutes until she let out an exasperated sigh and leaned forward. “Okay, Jim,” she began, “I just wanted to thank you.”

     “Thank me?” he had said, surprise evident in his voice. “Uh, okay, but what for? Being awesome?”

     “Maybe.” She had studied him, her black eyes luminous and just as intense as Spock’s. “I noticed that Spock seems much...better, lately, and I suppose it has something to do with you.”

     “Why me?”

     She had ignored that, and looked down to smooth her skirt. “I assume you figured some things out.”

     Jim had licked his lips nervously. “Uh, well, I guess. What exactly do you mean?”

     She had looked back up at him, her gaze direct. “Jim, I told you before I don’t need to know what happened; I just need to know you’re not fucking this up.” She had lifted her chin. “And from what I’ve seen lately, it appears you’re actually, you know, not fucking this up. So, thank you.”

     Jim had pressed his lips together, eyes wide. “You’re welcome?”

     She had let out a delicate snort and stood up. Jim stood up with her automatically. “Nyota, uh, I... ,” he began.

     She had smiled sweetly, tilting her head slightly. “Congratulations, Jim. I’m happy for both of you.” And with a final toss of her ponytail, she turned and left.

     Jim had relayed the story to Spock later that evening, not wanting to disturb his work with an abrupt mental flash-feed. The half-Vulcan had not reacted, merely stating that it was logical for Nyota to have figured it out.

     “But why?” Jim had said, slightly confused. “She made a statement to me before about my not understanding something. What did she mean?”

     Spock had gazed at him. “Nyota witnessed my loss of control after your death, and while I was engaged with fighting Khan. It was only her declaration of your name and the possibility of your salvation that broke through my need for revenge. Later, while you were recovering, I confirmed the presence of the link after she asked me about it directly. She knew what it meant, and immediately ended our romantic affiliation.”

     “Oh, shit,” Jim had mumbled, slapping his forehead with his palm. “I’m lucky she didn’t kill me. Again.”

     “Her perspective was quite logical. What is, is. I believe she accepted this to be the truth before I myself was able to do so.”

     “Now she’s a fucking superhero,” Jim had said, with a wry smile. “I’m going to buy her some flowers. And chocolate.” And he did.

 

 

 

     Now, Jim breathed in the warm, salty air and stretched his back. He knew that there were still challenges to be faced, both personally and with regard to the future of Starfleet. Hamilton was apparently being led a merry chase around Beta quadrant, preventing him from making much headway with his grand plan; however, the threat from the Klingons had not gone away, nor the continued rise of the military mindset within Starfleet. And somewhere saboteurs and spies still lurked, perhaps working for the _Ren shat’var_ , perhaps waiting only for the highest bidder or an offer they couldn’t refuse. The Federation was lately vulnerable, and enemies both hidden and overt were waiting to exploit that vulnerability. Interstellar war was one no-win scenario Jim knew even he couldn’t find a way out of, and that day might be coming.

     But that day was not today, and Jim’s thoughts took a brighter turn as he watched the science teams down on the beach disperse and Spock stand by himself, his hair ruffling slightly in the warm breeze coming off the ocean and his face turned ever so gently upwards, soaking in the sunlight. With a final stretch, Jim moved off of the rock and down to the beach, smiling as his bondmate turned to greet him, their thoughts merging into a shared warmth.

 

 

THE END

 

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, and I do not make any money from this.

 

 

 


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